Arise a knight
by Rose de Sharon
Summary: AU, sequel to “The Barley Field Lady”. Guy de Lusignan wants revenge on Balian: what will happen next?
1. The wouldbe king

**RISE A KNIGHT**

By Rose de Sharon

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing of the 'Kingdom of Heaven' movie characters. I write for fun, not for money!

**Author's notes:**

- In the movie, there is a short scene after the battle of Kerak where Guy de Lusignan casts a dirty look at Balian who is watching him from Jerusalem's ramparts. This story starts from this point.

- Some details come from the "Kingdom of heaven" movie book edited by Newmarket Press, others from Wikipedia the free on-line encyclopedia.

- English isn't my native language, all mistakes are mine.

- "_Vulgum pecus"_ means _"The ignorant crowd"_ in Latin.

**Feedback**: flames will be ignored.

--------------------------

**Chapter 1: The would-be king**

_**(Nearby Jerusalem's Golden Gate)**_

Guy de Lusignan was usually happy to act like a conqueror when he comes back to Jerusalem after a military assignment… but not this time.

He has made a hero's arrival each and every time he'd entered Jerusalem through its Golden Gate, known as_ "Sha'ar Harachamim"_,the Gate of Mercy by the Jews, while the Muslims called it the Gate of Eternal Life. A display of glory and military power was very appropriate for a king-in-making! He was parading ahead of Templar knights, riding his horse with pride, his nose held high in the air. Ordained troops were following him while rising dust and sand in their wake, Templar banners floating in the wind.

For Guy de Lusignan, the Templar Order – the rich beyond words, resourceful Order – mattered greatly: all its members and their Grand Master, Gérard de Ridefort, had sworn allegiance to him. Through the years, the Templar knights have obeyed the future king unquestioningly, turning him into the leader of the most-feared armed men known in the Holy Land.

What could be more impressive for the common people than the sight of a potential sovereign commanding the best trained and disciplined fighting units of the city?

_Behold! The future King of Jerusalem is back!_

But this time… it was different. His latest assignment has been a barely disguised punishment and everybody knew this.

The plebeians' bows were rather short and Guy de Lusignan could see the glimmer in their eyes, the sarcastic smiles on their lips. The flea-bitten _vulgum pecus_ met on the road wasn't impressed by his high-and-mighty attitude, in fact it even dared mocking him! His eyes darkened in anger, the very image of barely suppressed fury.

He could almost read their minds: _"Incapable…" "Vainglorious"… "Coward"… "Bloodthirsty"… _and above everything else_: "Cuckold!"_

_Damn you all to Hell!_

King Baldwin IV had sent him to an uninhabited northern region to "make sure the frontiers were secure". That mission has been nothing but a wild goose's chase, a polite way for the king to get rid of his brother-in-law momentarily. As the king's vassal, de Lusignan didn't have any choice but accepting this task, especially since he was very close to fall into disfavor.

Until a few months ago, no one could stand in Guy de Lusignan's way. Wed to a royal heiress, he had no rival for the throne except an 8-year-old boy who could be swatted as easily as a mosquito; Patriarch Heraclius was under his thumb; and his accomplice Renaud de Châtillon was obligingly taking all the blame for their attacks on Saracens. His lifelong dream would become true: he'll be crowned King of Jerusalem.

But his golden future has crashed down.

During his absence, Renaud de Châtillon has been executed by order of Baldwin IV. Details were still sketchy for Guy de Lusignan – so far, he has only heard something vague about a Saracen lady – but he had no doubts this beheading had a direct link with their raids against caravans. Now, the Templar Order was cowering out of fear of royal retributions and its Grand Master Gérard de Ridefort was keeping a safe distance from the would-be king.

_How could things have gone downhill in such a little time?_

_Because of Godfrey's bastard, that's how!_

The pretender to the throne has detested Godfrey of Ibelin from the very first time he'd met him. That tall, self-righteous, better-than-the-others baron! Always dutiful, obedient to the king, chivalrous towards his enemies! The only chink in Godfrey's armor was his being childless – and for years, Guy de Lusignan has laughed out loud about Godfrey's inability to procreate. But his slandering has backfired when the old knight tricked everyone just before dying: he named as his heir a long-lost illegitimate son left in France, Balian.

Ibelin's people were entirely devoted to their new lord after Balian had managed to turn his patch of desert dust into an Eden. Jerusalem had an unexpected perfect knight whose heroic fight at Kerak has earned him an immense popularity among the army's ranks. King Baldwin IV had gained a formidable ally to maintain the peace signed with Saladin. And then, Balian had the nerve to become Sybilla's lover!

_She betrayed me with a peasant… With that sweating blacksmith!_

Guy De Lusignan was clenching his jaw so hard his teeth were in danger of being shattered into a million pieces. Never would he have imagined his wife would openly betray him! Even if dozens of barons have courted Sybilla over the years, he had always though for sure she had too much sense of duty to compromise herself in an adulterous relationship. But Godfrey's bastard son has caught her eye as soon as he arrived in the city!

The would-be king has never felt so insulted in all his life, not even when the poet Ambroise has called him _"His simpleton Guy de Lusignan"_, or when King Baldwin IV took away his title of Count de Jaffa because of his "mediocrity".

_I'll show you mediocrity you disgusting, foul-smelling leper!_

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't realize he would pass under the Golden Gate in a short time.

_I hate you, Balian the bastard._

A movement caught Guy de Lusignan's attention. Rising his eyes towards the parapet walks, he saw the subject of his wrath looking down at him.

Balian of Ibelin, clad in dark clothes and crowned with a black turban, had all the appearance of a charismatic Saracen prince. Apparently, he has been put in charge of strengthening Jerusalem's defensive walls, towers and postern-gates. The people seemed very eager to obey their hero, judging by the noise of hard-working tools hitting stones that could be heard from downstairs.

De Lusignan glared venomously at his rival, who was impassively watching him from the top of the Golden Gate. As usual, Balian's right-handed man Almaric was standing one step behind him. There were also a few men wearing Ibelin colors nearby. The would-be king couldn't help but notice that some of the craftsmen had stopped their work to stand closer to Balian, like they also wanted to protect him from harm. Their faces were hostile, their hands holding their tools as if it were weapons.

All of a sudden, his friend de Châtillon's words came back to his memory, the last time they've talked about Balian during Renaud's incarceration: _"You must beware a popular man."_

_The blacksmith is standing high, while I am in the dust!_

He had to face it: his parade has turned into a fiasco. Only force and fear could make Sybilla's husband a sovereign. Guy de Lusignan has not earned respect and fealty even after spending years in the Holy Land, wrongly thinking his sword and his ties to the royal family would be enough to impose his authority.

He wasn't a popular man, and it could cost him his access to the throne: he'll have to rely on his pride and his conspirator skills to regain his rank and straightening out his situation.

Guy de Lusignan cast a last sidelong glance at Balian and then, with a disdainful grimace, he entered Jerusalem.


	2. The spy

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing of the 'Kingdom of Heaven' movie. I do own Jacques de Vitry, though! ;-)

--------------------------

**Chapter 2: The spy**

_**(Guy de Lusignan's private rooms, at King Baldwin IV's palace)**_

_"He was laughing at you, my lord"_

Guy de Lusignan stiffened at the whispered words. He has been sword practicing for hours in his private rooms, slashing at invisible enemies and making numerous victims among the potted plants, the silver candlesticks and the precious ceramics. In his rage against the furniture, he hasn't noticed someone had sneaked up on him.

Furious at the idea of being watched in a frenzy state, de Lusignan raised his weapon: whether it was a spy, a servant, he didn't care. He would put the intruder to the sword right now!

"I am not an enemy my lord," said the voice and a man stepped out from the curtains' shadows, wearing a coat of mail and a Templar's cloth on his chest. He was about Guy de Lusignan's age, with tow-colored hair and a hatchet face. He was darting nervous glances at every corner of the room to make sure no one else was listening.

"Who are you? How did you come here?" asked the would-be king in a harsh tone, his sword still held up high in the air. "Speak!"

"I am Jacques de Vitry, my lord, from the Templar Order."

"Oh, really?" growled de Lusignan. "Your kind has been very discreet recently, and your Grand Master is avoiding me as if I was a leper. Why would Gérard de Ridefort suddenly send me a messenger?"

"Master Gérard didn't send me. I am here on my own authority."

De Lusignan pointed his sword at de Vitry's throat, thus forcing the man to raise his chin and to meet his gaze: "You came here alone? Since when Templars disobey their Grand Master's orders?"

"Since the said Grand Master won't take actions to help you, my lord. I would." answered de Vitry.

De Lusignan hesitated: this man looked nervous and uneasy, yet he had the nerve to come up to him and extort a moment of his time. Should he gut him on the spot, call out for his guards, or listen to whatever that gauntly man has to say?

"Please, my lord. I am unarmed and unable to hurt you. My presence here is dictated by the dearest wish of my Order: to see you crowned King of Jerusalem."

Sybilla's husband lowered his weapon, but kept it ready at hand: "Speak."

"I was at the Golden Gate this afternoon when you arrived, my lord. I saw the way Balian of Ibelin was looking at you. He's making a mockery of your authority."

"He dares to make a mockery of _**me**_!" shouted de Lusignan while swinging his sword in the air, knocking down a vase which exploded into pieces on the tilted floor. "Thanks to that peasant bastard, I've lost de Châtillon, my Templar allies and the people's fear of me! Everyone laugh as I go by!"

"And almost your title of prince consort, my lord" added the intruder.

"You're treating on very dangerous grounds, de Vitry," snarled the would-be king. "I will not tolerate to be the subject of ridicule, not even by my so-called friends who do not show up when I need them."

"Perish the thought, my lord!" tactfully answered de Vitry. "It is not in my place to blame you or the Princess Sybilla for anything. Still, your position has become dire; some impertinent people even dare to say out loud that you should be removed from power. And there is only one responsible for this situation: the baron of Ibelin. For you to be crowned, he must … disappear."

Guy de Lusignan had a bitter laugh: "And who is going to do me this favor? You?"

"Yes, my lord, I am willing to do it."

De Lusignan looked up and down at the frail man, a doubtful expression on his face: Jacques de Vitry gave the impression he hasn't been well fed in his life and that a blow of air could knock him down. His coat of mail was need of repair and the faded Templar cloth on his chest has been mended various times. In fact, he was the perfect image of a French knight disinherited just for being the youngest son of a large family, leading him to go find his fortune in the Holy Land… and failed.

"_Pathetic"_, thought de Lusignan, who poured himself a drink of fine wine in a gold cup. Still, he was so short on allies that he couldn't be finicky for the moment, so he said: "The Ibelin bastard has friends. There are his men-in-arms, Tiberias and his knights, and a lot of sympathy among the army. Also, he has the support of the people of Jerusalem."

"But the Templars hate him, my lord!" emphasized de Vitry. "Especially since his latest actions have provoked the demise of the baron de Châtillon, who was one of our best men – and yours."

"I don't know yet what happened. Right after Saladin asked for an audience with the king, I was sent away on an important military mission. I've heard about de Châtillon's execution only on my way back, and details were very spare…"

"I can inform you, my lord. Renaud de Châtillon escaped prison and needed money to disappear from the Holy Land, or at least for a while. But he made a fatal mistake: he attacked a Saracen camp where an important lady was staying before returning to Damascus: she was Saladin's sister, the princess Yasmina."

--------------------------

Cliffie! ;-)


	3. The pact

**Disclaimer**: same as chapter 1.

--------------------------

**Chapter 3: The pact**

_**(Guy de Lusignan's private rooms, at King Baldwin IV's palace)**_

The golden cup fell on the floor with a bang, spilling wine all over the scattered pieces of the vase.

"Renaud has attacked the camp of Saladin's _**sister**_? Are you sure?"

"Yes, my lord, I am. It was confirmed to me by some of my Templar brothers who have participated to the fight."

_De Châtillon, you idiot! Hell-raiser, money-greedy, battle-drunk idiot!_

"Lord de Châtillon could have killed Princess Yasmina on the spot and no one would have been the wiser, but the young baron of Ibelin came out of nowhere and interfered. He killed many of our knights, wounded Lord de Châtillon and then fled into the desert with the lady. Somehow, they've managed to reach safety and Saladin asked the king for the culprit's head, which was granted."

De Lusignan silently swore under his breath. No wonder Saladin had asked the king for a private audience with his sister in tow: she testified against Renaud! And Baldwin IV sent away his brother-in-law on a fake mission to make sure he wouldn't even try to save his accomplice.

"Balian of Ibelin also got wounded during the fight," continued de Vitry, "and the Saracen physicians saved his life. He stayed at Saladin's camp under his protection, and then Lord Tiberias brought him back to Jerusalem. Of course, the story of Princess Yasmina's champion got widely spread all over the city. No one can talk enough about this Christian knight who rescued Saladin's sister!"

Guy de Lusignan thought he'd go mad: his rival was a hero for his wife, his people, Jerusalem and now the Saracens! How in Hell could Godfrey's _**spawn**_ be so successful?

"Now there is a rumor flying through the city," said the Templar with an ironic tone "saying the young baron of Ibelin is an angel sent by the Heavens to protect innocent men and women against wrongdoers. How his heroic deeds could be explained otherwise? Only a being of inherent goodness could be favored by God and accomplish such extraordinary acts."

De Lusignan gripped the hilt of his sword so hard his knuckles blanched, and he made a silent promise: _"I will mangle this angel's wings."_

Jacques de Vitry could see his future king was close to go berserk, so he quickly added: "It is nonsense, of course, my lord. The Templars have disapproved Ibelin's rescue of this Saracen princess. Besides, his interference has cost Lord de Châtillon his life. And how can we declare war against the Saracens if the peace treaty signed by Baldwin IV and Saladin isn't broken?"

"The Templars may disapprove the bastard's actions, and yet they are avoiding me, their best support!" shouted de Lusignan.

"Renaud de Châtillon was one of ours, my lord, and his execution have imperiled our reputation. Our Grand Master thinks we have no choice but keeping a low profile for now. As for me, I belong to the Order but I can walk unnoticed, gather information, and find the best way to… strike."

"And why would you do that?" asked Guy de Lusignan through gritted teeth. "From what I can see, you're in dire need of money, so what is your price? Or do you just want to gain a friend in court?"

"Humbleness doesn't fit a high-ranking lord such as you!" answered the gauntly man just before quietly adding: "Gold is certainly an issue for me, but there is more: I want the king's favor once you've assumed the crown."

"You've said yourself some people might not share your optimism, that my chances to become king are imperiled."

"That's right, my lord. I am ashamed to say so, but the king and Tiberias have indeed proposed to Ibelin the command of the army and Princess Sybilla's hand after Kerak – thus forcing you to step back from your authority. That's why I've said earlier you were close to loose your title as prince consort – not only because of Ibelin's charming your wife. But according to my sources, the young baron refused this offer out of noblesse of mind – from a former blacksmith, that is very doubtful! I daresay that deep down, he's afraid of you."

De Lusignan could hardly believe his own ears: the leper and that meddlesome Tiberias have dared to ask Godfrey's bastard to take _**his**_ wife and _**his**_ command?

Almost blind with rage, he picked up the nearest object at hand – an ivory-carved statue of a praying saint, brought back from his native region of Poitou in France – and threw it at Jacques de Vitry, who just had the time to duck. The statue barely missed his head before hitting the wall and falling on the floor in broken pieces, joining the other victims of his wrath.

"Mercy, my lord!" protested de Vitry. "I am on your side!"

De Lusignan grabbed the Templar by the throat before shoving him against the wall, effectively pinning the bearer of bad news like an insect. De Vitry was no match for a physical fight so he squirmed under the madman's fist, trying to talk his way out of his predicament.

"My lord, _**please**_! Baldwin IV will be dead in a matter of days; Tiberias cannot do anything against you and he knows it. For the Templars, you **are** the best candidate for the throne – certainly not your stepson, whose youth works against him. As for the Princess Sybilla, a simple reminder about you being the leader of the most powerful armed forces of Jerusalem will be enough to bring her back to her senses. She may deceive herself with that foolish relationship with Ibelin, but she's a devoted mother. She'll accept anything to protect her son… OW!"

De Vitry whimpered when his bottom hit the tiled floor with a resounding smack after Guy de Lusignan has released him. He was conscious of this humiliating posture, sitting among debris of artworks while the future king of Jerusalem was towering him, but he had to swallow his pride for the moment.

"My lord, this insinuating talk about a 'replacement' must stop at once. Ibelin's insolence has to be punished. Please, my lord, let me be the one to do it."

De Lusignan's mind was torn between slaying Jacques de Vitry and using him. His impetuousness was urging him to kill the Templar, but the memory of Godfrey's illegitimate son, watching him from the ramparts, came back to his mind.

Balian of Ibelin, Baldwin IV's favorite knight. The protégé of Lord Tiberias, that self-righteous pest. Sibylla's lover. The protector of the people, the hero of Saladin's sister. How could everyone have forgotten that Balian was a bastard born in the manure, working as a mere blacksmith in a flea-infested French village only months ago?

Reluctantly, Guy de Lusignan had to admit de Vitry was right: Balian had to disappear; otherwise his personal safety would be constantly in jeopardy. The leper king and Tiberias haven't succeeded in convincing Ibelin to take his place – but Sibylla could, using both her beauty and her dire need of a protector for her son – especially with Saladin's army still lurking around. De Lusignan knew he had to keep a low profile himself since Renaud de Châtillon's execution, and the Templars were at arm's length. For the first time in many years, he was without any political allies and that was an uneasy situation.

Jacques de Vitry may look shabby and frail, but after all physical strength wasn't needed for thrusting a dagger into a man's back or pouring a dose of poison in a glassful of wine. That renegade was acting against his Order's directives, meaning he couldn't ask for help or confide to the other monks about the consequences of his actions. Besides, who could link that low-ranking Templar to the future king of Jerusalem?

"Get up" growled Guy de Lusignan.

Jacques de Vitry got awkwardly on his feet, and looked up at Sibylla's husband who tossed him a handful of gold coins as if they were rotten almonds.

"You'll get twenty times the worth of this gold after the Ibelin bastard is sent to Hell. I don't care how you proceed – just get the work done. Once I am king, I'll make you see ingratitude isn't one of my vices. But if you get captured, do not bother confess since I'll deny everything – and I have the means to silence you forever in your cell."

"Thank you, my lord. I am honored by your trust in me."

"Get out of my sight!" barked de Lusignan.

Jacques de Vitry cowered at the harsh tone of his employer, and then bolted out of the room like a frightened squirrel. The doors' light-fabric drapes barely moved after the man had passed through them.

Guy de Lusignan sighed before pouring himself a new drink of wine in another golden cup. What a less-than-prideful action it has been, paying a miserable spy to get rid of his rival! How could this be regarded as a royal display of power? He knew the old saying about desperate times calling for desperate measures, and yet his natural arrogance was rebelling at the very thought of being dependent on that scruffy Templar.

Scruffy and naive! He honestly believed the future king of Jerusalem would keep his promise to make rich and powerful once the mission was accomplished!

Guy de Lusignan snorted before gulping down his wine. It takes a lowborn vermin to get rid of another one. And de Châtillon's death will be avenged in the same time.

The broken statue was still lying on the floor. The future sovereign turned back on his heels and realized the ivory-carved saint was staring at him. De Vitry's words came back to his memory: _"__T__here is a rumor flying through the city, saying the young baron of Ibelin is an angel"._

With an uneasy grunt, Guy de Lusignan left the room. All this talk has made him impatient, moody and he knew the best way to release his tensions: seeking out the best-looking maid-servants of the palace and give them a taste of his royal authority!


	4. The surveillance

**Disclaimer**: same as chapter 1.

This chapter is dedicated to Sunniva, with my best wishes for a prompt recovery!

--------------------------

**Chapter 4: The surveillance**

_**(Outside Balian's city house in Jerusalem)**_

The sun was sliding below the western horizon in a glory of gold, red and purple colors. In Jerusalem's churches, synagogues and mosques, people were saying their evening prayers. Soon, the moon will rise and the city's streets would be deserted in respect of the curfew. Any lost soul – drunkards, pilferers or traffickers – who'd fail to evade the Watch's patrols would be likely to spend the rest of the night in a prison cell. The darkened alleys were then very practical for those shadowy creatures to duck into and disappear in the hopes the Watchmen wouldn't take the time and trouble to run after them.

Jacques de Vitry was huddling beneath his filthy earth-tone cloak, in the shadow of a palm tree. For the past three days, he has been squatting just in front of Ibelin's city house, trying to look like a harmless beggar. With his natural gauntly aspect, a few rags picked up here and there and some caked mud on his cheeks, he looked every inch a down-in-luck man who was barely surviving in the streets of Jerusalem.

"Alms for a poor man," he would mutter while extending a skinny hand; and the disguise has proven to be a success every time a passerby has tossed him a copper coin!

Swathed in his matted cloak, Jacques de Vitry looked at the two-storied house across the street, with its huge main gate reinforced with ironworks, canopied and bearing a stone sculpture of the Ibelin's coat-of-arms on its lintel.

_Three days of surveillance in a row!_

He has been watching the coming and going of the members of Ibelin's household. Every time the main gate have been opened to allow carts or horses to enter, de Vitry had caught a glimpse of the busy courtyard and the stairs leading to the upper level… where the rooms of Guy de Lusignan's rival ought to be.

By nights the spy has prowled around the Ibelin city house, at the risk of being caught on the act by the Watch. He has been searching for a discreet entrance since the main gate was off-limits and the exterior walls bore neither windows nor balconies. Only at the end of the second night did Jacques de Vitry found a weak spot: a small dormer-window in the stables' roof. That building was shored up against the east wall, so he'd have to climb it to reach the window. The spy was sure some hay would be stored in the attic, so getting down there would be easy, as well as sneaking out of the stables without waking up the horses. Once he'd reached the courtyard, he'd have full discretion to execute his mission.

"_Tonight,"_ thought de Vitry as a plump matron dropped a coin at his feet.

Before settling down at his observation post, Jacques de Vitry would make his round in Jerusalem's main market early in the morning to pick up information and gossips. There, he found out that the favorite subject of conversation for Christian, Jew and Muslim merchants and customers alike was Ibelin and his rescue of a Saracen princess. Women were sighing after the young baron's beauty and heroics, while men were avidly speculating about how King Baldwin IV would name him Prince Baldwin's protector, thus effectively removing Guy de Lusignan out of power.

The situation has gotten worse than he would initially thought: the plebeians were openly talking about the destitution of their future king! That was treason!

De Vitry knew the Templar Order would never allow this usurpation; de Lusignan was their long-time ally, giving all the needed support for the military organization and its wealth. The Templar Order was a landowner in both Europe and the Holy Land; countless farms, vineyards, churches, castles also belonged to the organization, as well as manufactures, import-export businesses and a fleet of ships. All this for a religious order originally formed by nine monks-warriors sworn to protect the pilgrims and their assets!

Unfortunately, the late Renaud de Châtillon have given the Templar knights the taste to raid Saracen caravans and, even if their Grand Master had officially blamed those acts of brigandage – pushing the deception to the point of approving the execution of knights caught on the act – Jacques de Vitry knew that the pillages have made an appreciated contribution to the Order's treasure.

But that kind of manna was over, thanks to the meddlesome _"Ibelin angel"_! Even though he was recovering from wounds Renaud de Châtillon had inflicted him in the desert, the young baron would supervise the repairs of the city's ramparts all day long! That courageous attitude had won him the heart of Jerusalem's people… while de Lusignan's name was dragged in the mud.

The fake beggar glared at the Ibelin house while grinding his teeth.

_Tonight._

His mind was made up. Tonight, he would enter the house and stab the young baron of Ibelin while he slept. But to avoid any risk of interference, it would be better to strike in the dead of the night, when everyone would be sleeping soundly.

Jacques de Vitry disregarded the servants as threat: they were mice to him, and they wouldn't dare to attack if he ever got discovered in the house. Servants were unwilling to die for their masters! The men-in-arms, though, that was another story. They were heavily armed and honor-bound to defend their master even at the cost of their own lives. De Vitry had noted two among them who seemed especially dangerous: one with a reddish-gold mane of hair and a mustache, and a tall, broad-shouldered bald one named Almaric.

He knew he'd have to act silently while inside the house otherwise the consequences would be severe. Fortunately, moving like a shadow was one of his rare talents.

A man crossed the street and walked straight towards him. On reflex, de Vitry extended his hand:

"Alms for a poor man!" squeaked the spy in a pitiful voice, and a shiny silver coin landed on his palm.

Astonished by such generosity, Jacques de Vitry made a mistake: he raised his head in an abrupt movement at the generous contributor. His blood turned into ice in his veins: it was the man called Almaric, the towering bald knight who was currently staring at him with narrowed eyes!

De Vitry panicked: has he been spotted? For the past three days he has posed as a beggar, a barely noticed street shadow, nothing could have revealed his true identity! Fumbling and stammering his thanks, his eyes wide in fear, Jacques de Vitry was starting to believe he'd have to ask mercy for his life, and then Almaric told him:

"You'd better leave, friend. Curfew will be rung soon."

"Y-y-yes, m'lord! T-thank you!"

Jacques de Vitry scrambled on his feet and bolted in a flurry of cloak, as fast as his legs would allow him. He disappeared in a nearby alley after risking a look over his shoulder to be sure Almaric wasn't following him. But the tall knight just stood there, unmoving, watching him making his escape.

What a fright this has been! He has almost been discovered!

Tonight. Oh yes, tonight, the mission will be accomplished. Tonight, he has to take action tonight, tonight, tonight…. 

Jacques de Vitry ran back to the Templar Order's main house.

--------------------------

Almaric looked at the nervous beggar running down the street. This has been unsettling: why would a poor man react so wildly after receiving generous alms? Usually, beggars would give their thanks or even a blessing after someone had dropped silver in their laps. This kind of donation assured to the receivers a nice amount of food for their families, or they would drink it away in an evening and look for hired female company. So, why did the man run as if the Prince of Darkness had appeared in front of him?

Almaric frowned; he wished he'd chased after the man but the beggar has proven to be as swift as an arrow when panicked. Besides, what would have been the point to question that scarecrow? He'd probably make a scandal in the streets, yelling he was being mistreated at the hands of an Ibelin knight, and Almaric would rather be everlastingly damned to Hell before his lord's name would be disgraced.

Yet, he couldn't let the matter drop. Two days ago, while purchasing supplies for his wife at Jerusalem's main market, one of the merchants, a reliable man called Nasser, had told him a 'gauntly man' seemed very interested in the gossips about his master. Almaric has been tempted to dismiss this piece of news: thousands of people have been talking about the baron of Ibelin these past few weeks. But Nasser had insisted, telling the man was 'foxy-looking and clad in an oversized cloak'. Then, Almaric had noticed that beggar, sitting in the shadows of the palm tree. Nothing extraordinary was noticeable in this man at first glance, but he had remembered Nasser's description and it fitted the beggar perfectly.

That's why Almaric has tested him with the silver coin. As a result, he got a panic reaction and a rise of suspicions.

A hand grabbed one of his cuffs and shook it.

"Papa?" asked a child's voice.

Almaric looked down: it was Simon, his 8-year-old son, who was staring at him with curious eyes.

"Who was that man, Papa?"

"I don't know, dear," answered Almaric, lifting his son in his arms before walking back to their quarters at the Ibelin city house. Simon curled up like a kitten and locked both his arms around his father's neck. Almaric was unabashedly proud of his youngest child but this time, he was preoccupied and even Simon couldn't make him smile.

Almaric knew his young lord was the talk of Jerusalem and he was also aware Balian of Ibelin didn't lack of enemies. Among them was Guy de Lusignan of course, but also the Templars and every avid, low-ranking knight who came from Europe in the hopes of gaining riches and lands to erase his miserable past. War and force were easy ways, so what would those money-hungry bandits do if peace between Baldwin IV and Saladin was maintained?

Almaric hasn't forgotten his own meager beginnings; in his mind, he still could picture himself as a tall, hair-receding, famished and penniless 20-year-old knight in ruined boots, standing at the doorstep of the Ibelin house after a long day of unsuccessful calls to offer his services. Godfrey was in the courtyard and he had turned around, interrupting his conversation with a blond-haired Hospitaler monk. One look at Almaric and the blue-eyed baron had asked with a kind smile:

"_What can I do for you, lad?"_

Since that moment, Almaric has been entirely devoted to Godfrey. Over the years, he had acquired a respectable position as lieutenant of the Ibelin men-in-arms, had married and was now well-established in Jerusalem, thanks to the old baron's goodness. His out-of-wedlock son Balian has earned Almaric's respect and fealty in a heartbeat by his courage, his fair treatment of all human beings and later, by his willingness to improve his people's life. Illegitimate may he, Balian was the true heir of Godfrey and Almaric has sworn himself to always protect and serve his young lord.

Almaric entered the courtyard just before the main gate was closed behind him and bolted for the night. Putting Simon down, he looked at the sky: some gray clouds were gathering in the east and a hot wind was blowing wildly, a sure sign of rainstorm which wasn't improving his uneasy feelings.

_Yes, __things were getting darker in Jerusalem._

Simon took his hand and pulled at it, urging his father to come and have dinner.

Almaric shook himself of his thoughts and let his child take the lead, but he glanced one last time at Balian's room doors just before entering his home.


	5. The attempt

**Disclaimer**: same as chapter 1.

**Author's notes:**

- "_Sidi"_ means _"Mister"_ in Arabic.

--------------------------

**Chapter 5: The attempt**

_**(The Ibelin city house, night)**_

Jerusalem was under a sky-breaking thunderstorm and the huge dark clouds looked like they wanted to crush the city under their weight. A wild wind was ripping flags from their poles before blowing them away, while the pouring rain was turning the streets into mudslides. Intra-cloud lightening was randomly illuminating the sky and the rumble was loud deafening. Jerusalem's inhabitants were staying safely in their homes tonight… except for Jacques de Vitry, man on a mission.

His task has been uneasy at the beginning; the heavy rain has made the eastern wall slippery and he almost fell down twice when climbing it. Finally reaching the stables' dormer-window, he has thread his way through it and managed to fall into the attic, precisely at the place without any hay. Then he has sneaked through the stables and the horses in their stalls had woken up, sensing the intruder's presence. Irritated, the damned beasts have started whinnying and lashing out wildly. The rumbling of thunder had muffled the horses' thrashing but Jacques de Vitry was now sporting a huge horseshoe-shaped bruise on his right thigh! Cursing the horses to all eternity, he'd left the stables vowing to kill those beasts as soon as Guy de Lusignan would reward him.

But soon afterwards, his luck has been improving: the courtyard was deserted of any being, even the guards have been relieved of their posts because of the storm and the servants' quarters were dark, meaning its tenants were asleep. No one in sight to interfere in his mission!

Jacques de Vitry crossed the courtyard and quickly climbed up the stairs. It was a bit strange to move inside a house at night, after spending three days observing it from the outside. No lanterns have been left burning in the house, but his good night vision was enough to get his bearings. The spy congratulated himself for making a nice job of infiltrating his prey's house so swiftly!

He crept quietly along the corridors, leaving muddy footsteps behind him. Now was just a matter of finding the baron of Ibelin's bedchamber and stab him in the heart. And he had the appropriate tool for that task, hidden beneath his cloak! Jacques de Vitry had only one prized possession; it was a double-bladed dagger with a leather-covered hilt given to him by his father, just before the old man kicked him out of the family's manor with the advice to "make his own fortune in the world".

"_I AM making my own fortune, Father," _thought Jacques de Vitry bitterly_. "And your dagger will finally help me to do so, you avaricious old fool!"_

He suddenly heard a soft whistling just behind him and de Vitry whirled toward the sound with his eyes wide open in fear. The "whistling" rose again and the spy realized it was simply the sound of the date palm trees' leaves shaken by the violent winds. De Vitry has already heard this phenomenon during his long years in the Holy Land, but this time it sounded like…

… _A sad spirit made it._

Jacques de Vitry shivered and then shook himself out of any superstitious reverie. Now was not the time to be scared by ghost stories! Even if his whereabouts were starting to actually worry him, alone in a stranger's mansion at night under a violent storm, his first assassination attempt with the souvenir of his dreaded father coming back at the most inopportune moment… As on clue, his hidden dagger poked him on the thigh like a reminder of his presence here, and the would-be assassin emboldened, forgetting his fears to search for the baron's bedroom.

There! De Vitry saw heavily draped, wood-carved double doors flanked with two huge vases full of evergreen palm leaves trembling under the air's disturbance. Judging by the elaborate decorations, these were the Master's bedroom doors.

One last time, the spy darted a look over his shoulder then put his hand on one of the heavy doors and gave it a little push. Much to his surprise, it opened without any resistance, sparing de Vitry the trouble to pick the lock. It seems that unlike many lords, Balian of Ibelin wasn't wary of his own servants and didn't lock himself up in his rooms at night!

Jacques de Vitry entered the bedchamber and closed the door quietly behind him. He stayed put for a moment, waiting for his eyes to readjust in the dim light. Soon, he made out the shapes of the furniture: the chairs, the trestle tables, the candlesticks a chest, flapping curtains adorning the balcony… and the bed.

Jubilant, the spy approached the bed, his dagger ready and the sound of his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. Lightening suddenly appeared at the window, answered by a clap of thunder and de Vitry saw his prey.

_Behold the enemy._

Balian of Ibelin was deeply asleep, worn out by another day spent working at the city's ramparts. Clad in a dark nightshirt, the young baron lay still in his bed, undisturbed by the storm. He was sprawled on his back with one of his arms resting above his head, the other extended on the mattress, his lower body entangled in white sheets. His black mane of hair was like a halo around his head, making a sharp contrast against the cream-colored embroidered pillows.

De Vitry rubbed his sweaty palm on his leggings and came closer to the couch. The bedchamber was plunged into dim light once more but he could discern Balian's handsome features. De Vitry gripped his dagger in his right hand and raised it. It was time.

One strike, right in the heart, and he'll be rich!

But a bolt of lightning crashed on Earth and violent rumble resonated all over Jerusalem, its shock waves shaking walls and houses. The bedchamber got engulfed in a flash of intense light shooting through the window and Jacques de Vitry's arm stopped in mid-air. The spy stood paralyzed as his vision witnessed an impossible sight…

_Balian of Ibelin, __resting on a couch of white wings!_

Jacques de Vitry had barely the time to comprehend what he was seeing before another lightening struck the ground and rumble shook Jerusalem to the core; once again, the bedchamber got violently lightened. De Vitry's eyes looked in stupefaction at the young baron of Ibelin, who was indeed asleep in wings of the purest white. In the thunderstorm's lights he looked just like one of God's angels as painted in illuminated manuscripts!

De Vitry staggered on his feet, almost dropping his blade on the thick carpet.

_He was about to stab an angel!_

Panicked, Jacques de Vitry stepped back fearfully as the bedchamber was plunged into darkness once again. Half-blinded by the two successive flashes of light and blinking furiously, the spy rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand until his night vision readjusted.

After a while, the flashing lights dancing in front of his eyes disappeared and de Vitry frightfully looked at the targeted man. The room was darkened again and the spy realized he has mistaken the crumpled white sheets covering the bed for angels' wings. The thunderstorm's lightning has played a trick on his eyes!

De Vitry would have laughed out at his confusion. All the gossiping he heard in town about the young baron of Ibelin has messed up his mind more than he'd thought! Still, this has been unnerving.

A soft groan and a sigh coming from the bed alarmed the intruder. Balian was moving slightly, a frown barring his forehead: lightning and the storm's rumbles have succeeded in awaking him.

"_Well, enough nonsense"_,thought Jacques de Vitry._ "He's not an angel and he's waking up. Do it, now!"_

Resolutely, he raised the hand holding the dagger… just before his back was slammed by something huge.

"YOU WHORESON!" yelled a furious voice.

De Vitry lost his balance and fell on the ground, dragging down with him a table and a silver-crafted tea service, which hit the floor-tiles with a fantastic crash. The would-be assassin barely had the time to realize what was happening when a strong hand grabbed him and a fist connected with his jaw. The force of the blow sent him flying through the bedchamber and his body hit a heavy wooden chest located nearby the balcony. Strangely, that second impact cleared his ideas: he was in dire danger!

"WARE!" shouted the assailant. "WARE! Intruder!"

Another lightening bolt exploded outside and the following rumble covered the shout of alarm. Despite the attack, Jacques de Vitry hasn't lost his grip on his dagger. Terror made him scramble on his feet and despite the dim light, he recognized his aggressor: Almaric, the towering knight!

"WARE!" yelled Almaric again. "Intruder in the Master's room!"

The spy saw Balian of Ibelin awake, on his feet and joining the fight; he was holding the first weapon found at hand – a heavy-looking candlestick. De Vitry cursed himself for not locking the door after he'd entered the room – a grave mistake, which could cost him dearly!

"Run, my lord!" shouted Almaric, "Reach safety, I'll handle this knave!"

"No," answered Balian in a calm tone of voice, acting as if being attacked while he slept was a common thing in his life.

Almaric and his master were closing in, cornering the spy to the balcony. The two men didn't have any swords for their being caught off-guard in the middle of the night, yet Almaric's strength and Balian's valiance made them formidable adversaries. Jacques de Vitry knew when to conceit defeat, besides years of living in the shadows has made him quick on his feet. Turning on his heels, he ran for the balcony to make his exit, when Almaric's hand grabbed him by the arm.

"Oh no, you don't!" growled the tall knight, but he suddenly groaned after de Vitry's dagger stabbed him in the wrist. The reflex action kicked in and Almaric let go of his prey.

The spy used this moment of distraction to climb up the balustrade. The pouring rain was making the stones slippery and he almost lost his balance. He steadied himself for an instant just before making his jump… and screamed in pain! The candlestick wielded by Balian hit him on the left forearm, deftly snapping the bones in two.

Jacques de Vitry wavered, dropped his dagger in order to grab his injured arm. Balian noticed the weapon fell on the waterlogged balcony but he decided against picking it up. The intruder was wounded and tottering dangerously at the edge of the balustrade, he wasn't a menace now! But one look at Almaric clutching his bloody wrist ignited anger in Balian's heart.

"Is this why you came to the Holy Land?" shouted the young baron. "Come on, fight!"

But de Vitry had no intentions to fight. Terror has replaced his feeble pretence of boldness by his aptitude to flee. Ignoring the searing pain in his arm, he jumped from the balustrade to reach the ground in a splash of mud. Balian looked down just in time to see the man landing on his feet and disappearing in the shadows of the courtyard. Shutters and doors banged as the Ibelin household members were finally waking up, rising their voices in alarm by the unusual commotion, and yet Balian already knew it was too late for them to catch the intruder.

He tore his attention away from the pandemonium to check on Almaric. The young baron's garment and hair were dripping wet from the pouring rain but he didn't care. Dropping the candlestick to the floor, Balian reached out to his lieutenant:

"Are you wounded, Almaric?"

"'Tis nothing, my lord, a mere scratch," answered the towering knight.

Balian frowned: "It doesn't look like a scratch to me!"

Almaric couldn't argue with the young lord of Ibelin: his wrist was throbbing and bleeding profusely. The spy had a lucky hit! Balian ushered his lieutenant inside his bedroom and guided him to a nearby chair. Snatching a discarded linen towel, Balian wrapped it around Almaric's wrist and he secured the makeshift bandage with a tight knot.

"My lord!" protested Almaric. "It is above my condition to be tended by you."

"You saved my life, allow me to save your wrist. This should stop the bleeding ere you see a surgeon. I'll send for Brother Michael."

"You should run after that misbegotten whoreson, my lord, or call for the Watch, not waste your time upon this scratch. I can't believe that swine got the upper hand on me!"

"Almaric!" said Balian sternly, and then added in a softer voice: "If not for you, I'd be a corpse by now. How can I repay you this debt? If there is ever anything I can do for you or your family, name it and I am your man."

Almaric looked at his master is disbelief, then unexpectedly blushed with his eyes casted downwards: "You owe me nothing, my lord. It is my duty and my pleasure to serve you."

It was unexpected to see such a man, larger than life and loyal to a fault, looking embarrassed like a young squire. Balian decided to let the matter drop – for the moment – to ask: "How did you know the assassin would be here?"

"I didn't exactly know, my lord. But late this afternoon, I saw a beggar who looked kind of eerie. I've had a bad feeling about this – and I couldn't shrug it off. Sleep eluded me so I decided to make a round inside the house; then I noticed the muddy footsteps leading directly to your room and I knew in my gut danger was near."

Almaric's eyes hardened as he remembered the horrible sight that had greeted him after he had entered Balian's bedchamber. The sight of a dagger menacing his young lord was a memory he'd keep for the rest of his life.

"I've never seen such cowardice," growled the lieutenant of the Ibelin knights. "Trying to kill you whilst you sleep…"

Footsteps were running in the corridors and Balian raised his head to see a bedraggled and disheveled Lotfi, his majordomo, looking in bewilderment at the chaos in the bedchamber.

"_Sidi!_ What happened?" exclaimed Lotfi.

"The house has been broken into," answered Balian. "Almaric got wounded by the thief; could you send word to Brother Michael of the Hospitaler Order to come here at once?"

"Yes, _Sidi_, it will be done."

Lotfi rushed to his tasks, grumbling curses under his breath toward the intruder. Shouted voices could be heard in the courtyard as servants and men-in-arms were searching fruitlessly for the spy. Cradling his injured wrist, Almaric asked:

"A thief, my lord? The scoundrel looked more like a killer to me!"

"A very clumsy one, and none too courageous as it seems. Besides, I'd hate to worry the servants and their families about assassins infiltrating this house."

"My lord, mayhap you should post guards at your doors, in case this shadow man tries again to attack you?" suggested Almaric.

Balian shook his head negatively, remembering too much the last time people had defended him: it was shortly after he had fled his native village to reach his father, Godfrey of Ibelin, departing to the Holy Land. But the local lord's men-in-arms had wanted to arrest him for fratricide murder and Godfrey had interfered. Balian would never forget the heartbreaking sight of good men getting killed – Odo, Firuz and the others – to save his life, or his father, mortally wounded while fighting for his right to keep his son with him.

Balian had then vowed that no one had to die defending him, not if he could help it.

Balian looked down at his lieutenant before extending his hand. Startled, Almaric took it and the young baron helped him up on his feet.

"Arise a knight", said Balian with a smile, and Almaric remembered hearing those words during his own dubbing in France, years ago before he'd left his homeland to follow his former lord and master to Jerusalem.

But this time, the ritual expression has not been said to proclaim the beginning of a knighthood.

It was to salute the birth of a friendship.


	6. Author's notes

Author's note:

Due to an upcoming moving, I won't be able to post new chapters before mid-June 2007. All my books are packed up in boxes… and my computer is a goner!

I take this opportunity to thank my wonderful reviewers and readers for their kindness. Do not worry, Balian will be back soon!

Best regards,

Rose de Sharon


	7. The market

**Disclaimer**: same as chapter 1.

**Author's notes:**

- I am BURIED in boxes, suitcases and al. Will I ever be grateful when the moving is over!!! This chapter was done while packing so I apologize in advance if it is not written correctly.

- "_As-Salamu Alaykum" _means"Peace be upon you", _"Alaykum As-Salām"_ means "And on you be peace"

- To Smithy: "_Sidi_" is indeed the name of Orlando Bloom's dog; he adopted him on the "Kingdom of Heaven" movie set in Morocco. It means "_Mister_" or "_Sir_".

--------------------------

**Chapter 6: The market**

_**(Jerusalem's main market, two days later)**_

It was morning, the sun was shining and the main market was crowded as usual. Merchants were shouting to attract attention toward their products while potential customers were cruising lazily along the cluttered alleys, looking at the various kinds of fruits, vegetables, spices and meats. There were also clothes for sale, as well as ceramics, leather goods, poultry and cattle. It was a real cacophony of languages – Hebrew, Arabic, European – talking all together about prices or quality, and yet the market was a living proof that in Jerusalem, people with different religious backgrounds could coast along peacefully.

Balian was strolling among the huge flock of people compacted in the narrow streets, looking for a goldsmith for he wanted to buy jewelry for Sibylla. Balian hasn't seen her since his return from Saladin's encampment; even though she had sent a servant to his house every day to inquire about his convalescence. He understood her own perilous situation was keeping her within the palace – her brother's imminent death, her soon-to-be-crowned young son, Guy de Lusignan infuriated by the execution of Renaud de Châtillon. Yet his heart was suffering from their separation, so he hoped sending her a present would lift the pain a little.

Almaric was two steps behind him, glancing cautiously at whoever or whatever was on his sight. Since the assassination strike two nights ago, Balian's lieutenant hasn't left his master's side even for a minute. Balian was moved by Almaric's determination to protect him, even if his bodyguard was currently seeing enemies at every corner and corners everywhere.

Almaric had taken the murder attempt against his lord like a personal offence. His right wrist was wrapped in linen bandages and it looked like a painful reminder of the incident, even though it was on the mend, thanks to Brother Michael's healing skills. Balian had tried to reason with Almaric, but to no avail – so he had to step down and had refused that his Ibelin knights accompany him to the market. It has seemed to Balian that an escort was unnecessary for a shopping trip.

The air was full of dust; it was nearly suffocating at times. Balian's humble beginnings had used him to his native village, his lord's castle and blood-soaked battlefields, but he had never set foot in a large city in France so it was still a bit of a shock for him to walk in a city where so much people were gathered. The noise and activity were making his search for a goldsmith difficult!

A small hand slipped inside his, and a child's voice asked: "_Sidi_? May I help you?"

Startled, Balian looked down at his interlocutor: it was Almaric's son, Simon!

"Simon? What are you doing here, child?" asked Balian.

"I am protecting you, my lord, just like my Papa!" answered the 8-year-old. "I've followed you from the house and now you look lost, so I want to help you."

Balian couldn't help but smile at the young one's declaration. It seemed like Simon was determined to follow his father's footsteps! The knight crouched down at the boy's eyes level and asked: "How well do you know the market, Master Simon?"

"I know all of the market, _Sidi_!" said the child proudly. "And every merchant!"

"Well, young one, could you direct me to a goldsmith?"

"I can! Old Yehen ben Joseph sells beautiful jewelry; he's a real artist!"

Simon was already tugging Balian's hand in his eagerness to guide him to the goldsmith, but the new baron of Ibelin stopped him.

"Wait, Simon. The crowd's so thick; you could get lost or even trampled."

Balian gathered the boy and lifted him on his shoulders. Simon looked surprised since the only man in the world who had ever carried him has been his father, but he was young and always ready to play! Almaric, who had lost his master for an instant, opened his eyes wide at the unbelievable sight of his son getting a piggyback ride from their lord!

"Simon! What in God's name are you doing?" blurted out the tall knight.

"Don't scold him, Almaric," said Balian, "Master Simon here is kind enough to help direct me towards a goldsmith. May I borrow your son for a moment?"

Almaric was too stunned to answer at once. Never, in his born days, would he have imagined seeing the baron of Ibelin acting so casually with his child! Simon was looking at him with shining eyes, while Balian was patiently waiting for an answer with a calm expression on his face – just like his father, Godfrey. Almaric finally stammered out: "Y-yes, my lord, of course!"

"Thank you, Almaric. Lead the way, Master Simon!"

The boy pointed out to the northern part of the market and Balian directed his steps in the direction while Almaric was following suit. The towering knight was still surprised at his son's action and his lord's extraordinary kindness, but decided against thinking about it for the moment as he needed to stay focused on his mission: protecting the baron of Ibelin.

Soon afterwards, they reached the goldsmith's shop, which was settled in a one-stored house crowned with a terrace and a clayed-tiled roof. Jewelry and finely crafted objects such as cups and menorahs were laid on display, under the watchful eyes of the artisan. Simon climbed down Balian's shoulders and introduced his father's lord to Yehen ben Joseph, an affable man in his fifties, and his wife Myriam. Balian explained his wish of purchase and the goldsmith started showing him the best pieces of jewelry he had in stock.

Simon was fascinated by the shining items presented to the young lord of Ibelin, much to Myriam's amusement. Then, Almaric heard his name being called out loud: it was Nasser, his merchant friend, gesturing to him from behind his stall of leather goods situated a few yards from the goldsmith's shop. Almaric excused himself from Balian, then reluctantly left his master's side to talk to Nasser.

"_As-Salamu Alaykum_, Nasser."

"_Alaykum As-Salām_, Almaric. I've seen the gauntly man again, my friend, the one with the big cloak."

"Here? He was at the market?"

"Exactly! He came this morning, and he was even more foxy-looking than before. Almaric… is the rumor true about an assassination attempt?"

Almaric cursed under his breath: the official version was the house had been broken into and the thief has gotten away, since Balian had refused to say a word about an assassin. Obviously, some of the Ibelin's household people hadn't bought their master's explanation, thus spreading a new rumor because everyone in Jerusalem knew of the young lord's enemies. Almaric couldn't confirm the gossip without betraying his master's confidence, so he asked instead:

"Nasser… What did you hear?"

"That someone tried to stab the baron of Ibelin in his house, whilst he slept. A disgusting act of cowardice, if that's true!"

Almaric kept quiet for a moment. There were no doubts in his heart that the Shadow Man, as he had nicknamed the assassin, would try to strike again. Even if Balian had refused to increase his own protection, Almaric had taken upon his own authority to order his men-in-arms to keep a sharp lookout on their master and within the house. He was secretly wishing Balian would return to his Ibelin lands, where he would be perfectly secure among his people far and from Jerusalem, but there was still the matter of Princess Sibylla holding his heart!

"Almaric," said Nasser with a sigh, "People say there is a shadow of death floating above your Master's head."

"A shadow man," muttered the tall knight. The uneasy feeling was returning in his body.

Out of impulse, Almaric turned around and saw Balian talking quietly to the goldsmith's wife, Simon by his side. Yehen ben Joseph was out of sight so Balian's lieutenant supposed he had excused himself for a minute to fetch inside his shop a special item for his customer, leaving his wife to watch the display. Myriam had stepped out of the shop and was explaining something to Balian and Simon while showing them a silver-engraved menorah.

The uneasy feeling was coming back with a vengeance. Without knowing why, Almaric glanced upwards…

… Just in time to see the crouched dark silhouette of a man on the goldsmith's terrace, with tiles in his hands, just above…

"BALIAN!" yelled Almaric in anguish.

The young lord of Ibelin turned around and saw his lieutenant trying to run toward him, but the thick crowd pressed in the narrow streets was impeding him in his movements. Almaric was pointing upwards while screaming his lord's name so Balian looked up and saw an avalanche of roofing tiles falling down from the goldsmith's house right to him. In a swift movement he grabbed Simon and Myriam and jumped out of harm's way but, carried away by his own momentum, Balian fell down in the street's dust along with the woman and the child. The tiles hit the ground and exploded in a thousand shards.

At the sound of the crash, the people stopped dead on their tracks and cries of fear rang out. Yehen ben Joseph rushed out of his shop and saw his wife, their customer and the young boy lying in the street, showered with debris of tiles.

"MYRIAM! What in God's name happened?" cried out the goldsmith in panic as he ran to his wife.

The young lord of Ibelin was helping the woman and the boy to get back on their feet. Roughly pushing the crowd aside like a charging bull, Almaric finally reached them and gathered Simon in his arms. Crying in fear, the little boy clung to his father's neck.

"You're safe, darling!" blurted out the towering knight. "God almighty, you're safe!"

Myriam was crying as well, hugged by her badly shaken husband, her robes and veil in disarray. Merchants and onlookers were gathering around the almost-victims, offering words of comfort or asking dozens of questions. Almaric noticed from the corner of his eye that Nasser had abandoned his shop to look at the scene. Then he saw Balian, his clothes and his long dark hair covered in white dust, looking shaken but standing tall among the confusion.

"My lord!" exclaimed Almaric in concern while crushing Simon to his chest. "Are you all right?"

Balian nodded affirmatively with a smile and Almaric looked up at the terrace, from where the tiles had fallen down. He spotted the man he had saw just before the attempt glancing down the street, silhouetted against the morning light and wrapped in his huge cloak.

It was the same man who had tried to stab Balian two nights ago.

"My lord, it's him!" exclaimed Almaric as he pointed out to the roof. "The Shadow Man! He's up there!"

Dozens of eyes immediately looked up and saw the perpetrator, who tried to duck out of view but it was too late: Nasser yelled something in Arabic and the crowd answered with a roar. The Shadow Man jumped from the goldsmith's terrace to clumsily land on all fours on the roof of a nearby house, his cloak deployed like bat's wings. Balian noticed the would-be assassin's right arm had stiffness as if it has been injured recently.

"Murderer!" yelled Nasser at the fleeing man.

Stones were already flying at the perpetrator, nearly hitting him, and insults voiced in a variety of languages were heard all over the market. The people of Jerusalem were outraged that someone had dared to attack the young lord of Ibelin, a hero! The lives of an innocent woman and a child have been endangered as well and only Balian's quick action had prevented a tragedy!

In a panic, the Shadow Man rushed down stairs leading to a nearby smelly alley full of debris, when a stone struck him on the head and made him fell head-first in a pile of garbage. Sputtering compost, he scrambled awkwardly on his feet, holding his bleeding head with one hand. A young boy called out a warning and some furious men came rushing, ready to lynch the Shadow Man but the alley was too narrow and cluttered to allow them to enter at the same time. It resulted in a melee, with the men pushing each other and nearly falling down over their own feet.

The clumsy murderer took this opportunity to flee on his wobbly legs while stones and insults were flying at his head, his cloak floating behind him like a banner of malevolence. Nasser elbowed his way through the group of men, followed suit by Almaric still holding Simon in his arms, and Balian. They arrived just in time to see the Shadow Man disappear in the darkened alley like a puff of smoke. Even in his wounded state, the would-be assassin was a good runner: fear gave him wings!

Almaric was infuriated by the easiness showed by the Shadow Man to escape once again on his watch. He handed out his son to Balian, saying: "Please watch over Simon, my lord. I'll catch this knave!"

"No, Almaric! Stay here." said Balian sternly. His face was calm but his heart was pounding in his chest like a hammer, by both the new murder attempt and the indirect endangerment of Simon and the goldsmith's wife.

"My lord!" protested Almaric. "That coward had tried twice to kill you!"

"I won't let you run blindly in this maze, where the murderer can hide and stab you before you'd even realize what happened. Those alleys are a death-trap, Almaric!"

Ibelin's lieutenant would have argued that he didn't care about the risks, but one look at his Balian's intense dark gaze made him renounce to run after the Shadow Man. Almaric was a knight to his core and his master's word was his law. Besides, Simon was looking at him with big, pleading eyes, silently asking his father to not leave him and Almaric couldn't refuse his son reassurance, especially after this recent brush from death.

The people had quieted down when they realized the assassin was out of their reach. Grumbling threats of retribution towards the Shadow Man, merchants and customers retreated slowly toward the market, back to their businesses, accompanied by curious bystanders gossiping wildly about the incident. Soon afterwards, Balian gestured to his lieutenant and they walked back to the market, as the young lord of Ibelin wanted to check on the goldsmith's wife. Nasser gave a final glance at the dark shadows of the alley where the man has disappeared, and then followed them.

Balian was not aware of the admiring eyes of bystanders, nor could he hear the words whispered behind his back, like _"hero"_,_ "angel"_, or_ "true knight"_. They stopped by the goldsmith's shop and Yehen ben Joseph assured them Myriam was fine, just shaken by the accident and that he has already made arrangements to have the tiles repaired to his roof and secured. Balian thanked the goldsmith and took his leave, followed closely by his lieutenant.

"I still think you should have let me run after that swine, my lord." grumbled Almaric.

"I won't let you make Simon an orphan on my account, Almaric." answered the young baron of Ibelin quietly while looking at the trembling 8-year-old boy in his father's arms.

"But it's my sworn duty to protect you, my lord!"

"And you do well. It is twice now you've saved my life. I am indebted to you."

Almaric, once again, was feeling embarrassed by his master's gratitude. He was a man of action, fighting whatever cause his lord may hold and never expected anything in return other than his wages and a good roof for his family. There always had been a respectful distance between him and Godfrey of Ibelin; Almaric had just assumed Balian would act the same way so it was still surprising to see he had gained his young master's friendship simply by doing his duty.

"You've saved my son, my lord! There are no debts between us."

Almaric gently set down his son on the ground and Simon turned his tearful face toward Balian, saying in a tiny voice: "Thank you for my life, _Sidi_."

Balian smiled and caressed the boy's cheek in a tender gesture. Nostalgia clouded his eyes as he remembered his wife Anne, the joy they have felt during her pregnancy, and how his hopes and dreams had been shattered by the death of their child and Anne's suicide. Events had then rushed forward with his father's arrival and Balian hadn't had time to think about creating a new family of his own, but Simon's young and innocent face was a painful reminder of his secret wish to become a father.

_Will he have the chance of holding his own son in his arms one day? _

_Will Sibylla __ever become the mother of his children?_

Balian sighed, and then told Almaric: "Let's go home. I'll do my purchases later."

Almaric nodded just before following his lord, more watchful than ever, Simon holding his hand. Nasser observed them until they were lost in the crowd, which had gone back to its normal activities and was noisier than ever, but neither Balian nor Almaric noticed the merchant's piercing gaze.

When they were out of sight, Nasser took something out of his cloak's pocket and observed it for a moment while remembering a promise.

A promise made to a beautiful lady.

It was a barley ear.


	8. The old soldier

**Disclaimer**: same as chapter 1.

**Author's notes:** Tiberias is pretty angry in this chapter… watch out! ;-)

--------------------------

**Chapter ****7: The old soldier**

_**(King Baldwin's IV palace, at dusk)**_

Guy de Lusignan was walking down the palace's corridors in an infuriated state. His feet were stomping relentlessly on the ceramic tiles and the elaborated carpets while he was violently pushing aside anyone or anything standing on his way, may it be servants, curtains or furniture. He looked just like a charging elephant, displaying the worst outburst of anger ever seen under the palace's horseshoe-shaped arches but no one dared to remind him about protocol or the dignity usually expected from a lord, a future king and a member of Jerusalem's royal family.

Out of rage, he hit one pink marble column with his fist and the stone cracked under the violence of the blow. One word was pounding inside his brains, like a blacksmith's hammer hitting repeatedly on an anvil: _"Twice, twice, twice…"_

That word was driving Guy de Lusignan into madness: TWICE!

That fool Jacques de Vitry had managed to fail his mission _twice_. For the man to be so stupid, his mother must have laid in the straw with the village's idiot!

Balian d'Ibelin had escaped death two times in a row, and de Lusignan had never abhorred anyone more in his whole life. No one seemed to be able to rid him of that nuisance, this low-born blacksmith turned into a knight, the spitting image of the late and detested Godfrey, as if his ghost had come back from the Other World to haunt Jerusalem's future king!

_Twice, twice, twice…_ How could Godfrey's bastard be so lucky? If Guy de Lusignan had belonged to the superstitious lot, he'd think Balian had concluded a pact with the Prince of Darkness, on a parchment signed with blood and smelling of brimstone. But that option wasn't even evoked by Jerusalem's ever-active rumor mill: for the people, the young baron had escaped the two attempts simply because assassins have no powers against an angel!

"_And here we go again with that balderdash!" _thought Guy de Lusignan_. "He's nothing but the spawn of Godfrey mixed with manure! How could people be so credulous, thinking a peasant's bastard is an envoy from the Heavens? I wouldn't believe it even if my deceased father would appear in front of me to confirm it!"_

That imbecile Jacques de Vitry had first tried to kill Balian in his house, while he slept. A good idea if a cowardly one, but then again the man wasn't an example of courage. But de Vitry got impended at the last moment – later, he had babbled about a problem with his eyes – and he got caught on the act by Balian's right-hand man who had nearly captured him. Of all the clumsy things! Then, de Vitry had tried to make up for his goof by provoking an avalanche of tiles to fall on the baron of Ibelin at Jerusalem's main market: another failure and the apprentice murderer got almost lynched on the spot by meddlesome plebeians!

A backhanded blow from Guy de Lusignan sent a tin vase full of flowers flying from a pedestal and it landed on the tiles with a loud crash, water spilling everywhere on the walls and floor. High up on the walls and nearby the mosaic friezes, torches were trembling inside their supporting sconces and the flames were flickering, dangerously close to be put out by the violent air current produced by the enraged lord.

Only pure luck had prevented the Templar to be captured at the market, otherwise he would have confessed right there and here, in front of Godfrey's bastard and the people, dragging de Lusignan's name in the mud! Of course, the Poitevin lord would have shrugged off the accusations like dust off his boots but still, the damage to his reputation would have been terrible: the nobleman who turned to pathetic spies to do his dirty work, talk about pouring oil on fire!

_**Twice!**_ Well, he'd make sure there won't be a chance for thrice. As soon as the future sovereign would get his hands on Jacques de Vitry, he'd make him rue the day he was ever born! De Vitry's incompetence had become a thorn in Guy de Lusignan's and he couldn't be distracted by "botherations". One strike of his sword, and the meager Templar would disappear from the face of the Earth forever…

A hand grabbed de Lusignan and he found himself smacked violently against a wall, banging the back of his head against the stucco decorations with plant and geometric motifs. Before Sibylla's husband could understand what was happening, he felt a sword going through his embroidered beige silk tunic and white leggings, the cold steel lodging itself nearby his crotch! In a panic, he stood on tiptoes to avoid the contact of the blade with his private parts.

The would-be king opened his mouth to call out for guards, but a hand squeezed his neck and a hoarse voice asked:

"Do I have your attention, my lord?"

De Lusignan's eyes widened in shock: his aggressor was no one but Raymond de Tripoli, Lord Tiberias, Marshall of Jerusalem and King Baldwin's IV first councilman!

"Tiberias! But what are you..!"

"Quiet, you whoreson, unless you want the whole royal palace to know you're about to become a eunuch!" growled the older man.

De Lusignan tensed up, trying to move his crotch away from Tiberias' sword, but to no avail: he was pinned against the wall by both the blade's strategic position and the iron grip on his throat. His predicament was causing his legs' nerves to shake and he knew he wouldn't be able to stand on his toes for very long!

"Tiberias, you have gone crazy… old fool!"

"Oh, am I? Thank you for enlightening me, my lord. What would Jerusalem become without your sharp wit?"

The older man's right eye was glimmering dangerously behind his scarred lid, and for the first time of his life Guy de Lusignan felt truly afraid of Jerusalem's Marshall. His eyes probed the shadows to find some help, but his recent demonstration of anger had made all the servants flee in the opposite direction so the corridors were deserted. Regicide was about to be committed, and there was no one in sight to help him!

"Now," continued Tiberias, "Mayhap you could put your intelligence to good use… like figuring out why I am willing to forbid you of descendance?"

"You're a…. lunatic! You dare…. threatening me! This is… a crime of… lese-majesty!"

"That was not the expected answer, my lord!" Tiberias tightened its hold and Guy de Lusignan thought his neck would break from the pressure. "Your brains don't work properly due to the lack of air you are currently experiencing? Never mind, I will provide you with an explanation."

The sword's sharp edge was close to de Lusignan's testicles… much too close! Standing on tiptoes against a wall was a precarious situation, but if he dared putting his heels back on the ground, Tiberias would skewer him for certes! And the hand squeezing his throat was efficiently strangling him, thus preventing him to reach out for his sword. Never Guy de Lusignan would have thought the older man had so much strength left in his bones!

"Balian d'Ibelin, my protégé," growled Jerusalem's Marshall. "Two murder attempts against him within a week. How subtle, my lord!"

"I have… nothing… to do with it!" denied Sibylla's husband.

"It is not astute to treat like a fool someone who wants to geld you, my lord!"

"You wouldn't… dare! I am the…. future king!"

"The **heir** to the throne is an 8-year-old boy," said Raymond de Tripoli. "You are second in line, the **spare**, meaning loosing you won't imperil Jerusalem, in fact I am ready to wage it would save the kingdom a lot of trouble; hitherto you've been nothing but a battle-drunk nuisance!"

De Lusignan suddenly stopped his squirming under Tiberias' grip, finally realizing Jerusalem's Marshall was acting deliberately and not out of madness.

"Yes, I do have you by the short hairs, don't I? Well, forgive my bluntness but I am an old soldier. Now, I will explain the situation to you in words that even you can understand, you simpleton!"

Tiberias chuckled when he saw de Lusignan's face searing with heat by both the effects of the insult and the hold on his throat.

"You call off the murderers of your ilk right now, or by God I swear you will loose your manhood. And then you'll get your share of public humiliations, slanders and laughs behind your back, just like you did to Godfrey d'Ibelin. Did you honestly think your insults towards that good man, my friend and brother-in-arms for twenty-five years, would be unpunished? Well, think again! Besides, making you forfeit that body part would be like killing two birds with one stone: you'd be an outcast and it would make a perfect reason for King Baldwin IV to annul your marriage with Princess Sibylla. What use is a prince consort if he cannot… produce?"

"You… wouldn't… dare! I'll… make… you… pay!" sputtered de Lusignan.

"Is that supposed to scare me? Besides, that won't sew your manhood back to its place. And believe me, it is a bad wound – I've seen that a thousand times in my life, on the battlefields. You are about to loose everything you've conspired for," growled Tiberias with adding an extra pressure on his sword.

"Stop it!" begged Guy de Lusignan. "Just stop it, you're hurting me!"

"Take it like a man, my lord, whilst you are still one!"

"Wait! Just wait! I don't know who is after Ibelin… I really don't! But I can find out!" added de Lusignan very quickly.

"Oh, you can? asked Raymond de Tripoli with a sardonic smile. "I wasn't aware of your familiarity with the underworld, my lord. My, you have such resourcefulness!"

"Damn you! I will ask the Templars, they have contacts all over Jerusalem and the Holy Land! They will find the perpetrator and…"

"Listen to me, you arrogant prick," interrupted Tiberias. "I don't believe a word you're saying, so take heed: if anything happens to Balian, you'll pay dearly. This is my first and last warning. Understood?"

Guy de Lusignan had barely the time to croak _"Yes" _before the older man released his throat and drew back his sword in the same swift movement. He found himself in the same humiliating posture he had inflicted to Jacques de Vitry days ago, sitting on the marbled floor and holding his hurting throat between both hands. The echoes of Tiberias' footsteps quickly decreased along the deserted corridors, but there was also the distinctive metallic sound of a sword being sheathed back into its scabbard.

The next sovereign was so mad he could hardly see, but he was also scared out of his wits. His plans to get rid of Godfrey's bastard had backfired badly and now he was facing Tiberias' wrath: the old soldier had the king's ear and he could easily ask the leper to destitute him just before expiring. Could things get even worse?

Guy de Lusignan had to admit it, the Jacques de Vitry option was a total failure. Granting an important mission to that pathetic Templar had been a terrible mistake, a whim caused by the irritation he felt very time the name _"Balian d'Ibelin"_ was mentioned to him and he had wrongly thought the offer from that disgraced Templar to be a good opportunity.

His ripened shirt and leggings were a shameful reminder of the panic he had shown in front of Tiberias, and Guy de Lusignan swore to burn the garments in his bedchamber as soon as he would get the chance to do so. Oh yes, it was definitively the time to sever all ties with Jacques de Vitry!


	9. Author's note

**Author'****s note:**

Due to an upcoming vacation, I won't be able to post new chapters before August 9th.

I wish to all my wonderful readers and reviewers a very happy summer full of sunshine, laughter and friendship!

Best regards,

Rose de Sharon


	10. The desperate man

**Disclaimer**: same as chapter 1.

**Author's notes:**

- Hi everybody! Sorry for the long delay, but I haven't been able to buy a laptop computer yet so I am typing wherever I can. I hope you've had a fantastic summertime! ;-)

- An artificer is a military mechanic (in French, the word is "_artificier"_). In the 12th century, an engineer is someone who makes siege engines. It is explained in the DVD Director's cut version of the movie that Balian, on top of his own trade as a blacksmith, has learned artificer and engineer skills during a war in France.

- "_Nightshade"_ is another name for the Belladonna plant.

--------------------------

**Chapter ****8: The desperate man**

_**(King Baldwin's IV palace, night)**_

To any passerby, the gauntly silhouette creeping along the palace's corridors decorated with interlaced polychrome tiles could easily be mistaken for a low-level employee, like a shy servant or a nervous groom. The man was walking in quick, short steps as if he wanted to run but was too aware of his luxurious surroundings to do it. His frantic eyes were looking in every direction and he jumped at the sound of the most innocuous noise.

Because Jacques de Vitry was neither a servant nor a groom: he was a clumsy spy and assassin, with two botched murder attempts under his belt and the wrath of his former patron at his heels.

Guy de Lusignan had sent one of his servants to the Templar Order's headquarters in the evening to fetch him and bring him to the palace. The summoning was officially to _"talk about the situation"_ but the spy had known better than believe that euphemism. His blood had turned into ice in his veins at the idea to meet Guy de Lusignan after his two consecutive failures! He had tried to coax the well-built servant to accept a cup of wine, but the man had grabbed him by the arm in an iron-like grip before Jacques de Vitry ever had the time to poison the drink with the nightshade powder he kept on him in a pouch, at all times.

The spy had known better than to call out for his Templar brothers; with the risk of unwanted explanations, his Grand Master Gérard de Ridefort would have tossed him out like last week's garbage without any second thoughts! So he had to "willingly" follow the emissary until they had reached the palace's entrances and crossed the main court, always crowded with courtiers, horses and servants.

Fortunately, the attention of the servant had been distracted by the sight of a beautiful lady-in-waiting passing by, making the occasion Jacques de Vitry had been praying the Devil for; as soon as the pressure on his arm had loosened up a little, he had bolted to disappear in the gloomy rooms, unknowingly holding to his _"Shadow Man"_ nickname Almaric had given him.

The servant couldn't sound the alarm without bringing Guy de Lusignan's dissatisfaction over his own head, and de Vitry had been able to hide inside the palace. He had used pillars, closets, statues and furniture to keep himself out of view like in a desperate game of hide-and-seek. At first, he had thought he was just delaying his doom, but de Lusignan's man hadn't showed up for hours now, making the spy even more nervous. Had Jerusalem's would-be king called off the hunt, or was it a ruse to make him do a fatal mistake?

The sound of footsteps coming towards him made Jacques de Vitry's heart jump in his throat. Shaking like a leaf, he rushed toward a black marble pillar and hid behind it, just in time to see two servants clad in white from head to toes and walking along the corridors. One was grey-bearded, while the other one was young enough to be his adolescent grandson. They were talking quietly between themselves but the spy's keen ears could easily pick up their conversation.

"Our king's dying, you say?" asked the young servant.

"Truth is!" replied his older counterpart. "Our dear Baldwin IV will not live out the night. His last expedition to Kerak's castle has cost him his poor health."

Both men sighed, and Jacques de Vitry thought his stomach would empty its contents on the tiled floor. Who in the world could mourn the passing of a stinking leper? Leave it to the plebeians to pity one of God's most wrenched and foul-smelling creatures!

He heard the young servant asking: "So the new king of Jerusalem will be young Prince Baldwin?"

"Aye, there is no other heir to the throne. The child will be crowned very soon; Patriarch Heraclius has already given orders to prepare for the ceremony. Princess Sibylla will be his regent and Lord de Lusignan his protector."

Jacques de Vitry smiled at this sudden good fortune: he was saved! With the child's crowning, Guy de Lusignan would regain his status as the most important lord of Jerusalem. He was, after all, the wedded husband of Princess Sibylla and the stepfather of Prince Baldwin: nothing could stop him to become the power behind the throne! Haloed by his renewed glory, Guy de Lusignan would forget about his clumsy spy and Jacques de Vitry could return to the shadows where he belonged.

Another sigh, and then the adolescent servant asked: "What's troubling you, my friend?"

"The king wanted another man to protect young Baldwin… Balian d'Ibelin. A man with an undisputed reputation of courage, loyalty and chivalry; qualities that most of our knights are sadly missing! His name is widespread across the Holy Land and I daresay he has gained allies among the Saracens and enemies within these palatial walls."

"Isn't he the hero who has saved a beautiful Saracen lady from Lord de Châtillon?" asked the youngster in an excited tone, like a child begging for a story.

"That's right, and it had cost de Châtillon his head. Alas, Lord d'Ibelin has refused King Baldwin's proposal of his sister's hand! We would have a real man to lead the army and protect our young prince and his mother from all of our enemies. But he couldn't accept to become Princess Sibylla's new husband at the price of… the permanent removal of Lord de Lusignan."

"Why didn't he accept?" argued the adolescent. "I would have! Lord de Lusignan is a scoundrel!"

"HUSH, lad!" scolded the old servant. "Remember where you are!"

Jacques de Vitry blanched with rage. Servants who dared insulting their future sovereign? Those mice-like beings needed to learn their proper places! If he had enough courage, he would forget his own predicament and slain these servants.

"To answer your question, lad," continued the older man in a quieter tone, "Lord d'Ibelin didn't accept because he has too much conscience for politics. Now, come. We have some chores to do…"

The rest of the servants' conversation was lost to the spy as they walked away, but Jacques de Vitry had heard enough.

The death of Baldwin IV would entail Guy de Lusignan's rise of power, there could be any doubts about it. This imminent political turnover was giving Jacques de Vitry two options: he could either go back to his miserable life at the Templar Order as a low-level Brother, or he could kill Balian d'Ibelin to finally earn his future king's favor.

Going back to the safety of the Templar Order was tempting. De Vitry's nerves were still raw from his two failed attempts and he hadn't come off unscathed. He had a broken left arm, thanks to the baron of Ibelin's combativeness, and painful bruises all over his body, thanks to Almaric's grip and the stones thrown at him by the market's customers and merchants. A part of him wished to crawl back to his dingy room and lick his wounds, but that would imply to forget about Guy de Lusignan's gold and consideration.

Jacques de Vitry had more pride than intelligence, and he was also desperate: for the life of him he couldn't picture himself renouncing to an opportunity of gaining an easy fortune. He had spent countless years living in the mud, behind important people's boots, and he yearned for the gold-induced respect he had felt deserving since he was a teenager.

"_Besides,"_ madly thought Jacques de Vitry, _"It is Ibelin's fault if I have gotten injured and if the palace's servants are bad-mouthing Guy de Lusignan!"_

These misplaced vows of vengeance quickly dismissed the worries induced by his own precarious situation and the spy looked around: there was nobody in sight. He left the sanctuary of the black marble pillar to stroll around the corridors, carefully avoiding the lightened torches, his eyes and ears on the alert. He had to get out of the palace and think of a new plan to kill Balian d'Ibelin!

------------------------

_**(King Baldwin's IV palace, later that night)**_

Jacques de Vitry was hiding in one of the palace's formal gardens. Exotic plants of all sorts were disposed on differing levels, between two narrow pathways paved with glazed ceramic tiles and forming a cross-like design. A marble-carved fountain was standing at their intersection, and there were decorative benches standing all along the four open-aired corridors encircling the garden. By day, the plants and the permanent gurgling of water were soothing the minds of strollers who wanted to enjoy some peace and quiet and at night, the roofless inner space offered the added beauty of the starry sky.

But for Jacques de Vitry, this garden was nothing more than a hideout. He was crouching under a thick jasmine shrub which offered him a good protection against prying eyes and he hoped he could wait until morning to slip out of the palace and plot a new assassination attempt against Lord Ibelin. Servants and guards were coming and going quietly along the corridors, looking subdued and expecting the inevitable call from the Chamberlain announcing the death of King Baldwin IV. All of them knew it was just a matter of time…

The spy was himself feeling sleepy, when the sound of voices approaching his hiding place made his heart jump in fright. De Vitry looked around in a panic and his eyes widened even more as he realized two men were walking side-by-side on one of the garden's pathways and coming right to him. One was Lord Tiberias, Marshal of Jerusalem, and the other one was… none than Balian d'Ibelin, his prey!

"I am glad you have accepted the new duties the king has put into your hands, Balian," said Tiberias with that gruff, rough tone of voice that characterized him. "Your experience as an artificer and engineer will be invaluable to plan strategic fighting if this kingdom ever comes to war."

"Do you think the king has been wise to nominate a man like me?" asked Balian's quiet voice.

"Balian, you are far too modest! By God, every time we speak together you remind me of Godfrey. The king couldn't find a better protector than you, a man who is both honorable and skilled in warfare. No, lad, you above all the other knights are worthy of your new title: Balian d'Ibelin, Leader of Jerusalem's armies!"

Jacques de Vitry could hardly believe his own ears: the Ibelin bastard had been named Head of the Christian army by the dying king? But what about…

"What about Guy, Tiberias?" Balian's voice rose again. "Do you think he will accept my new position?"

"De Lusignan will swallow his rage and keep his mouth shut, if he knows what's good for him!" grumbled Tiberias. "He and his Templar accomplices are in disfavor since the execution of Reynald de Châtillon, and de Lusignan got very close to be jailed himself for open treason against the crown! As for his influence within the army, I can tell you right now that any foot soldier would rather follow a leader who knows his job than a bloodthirsty idiot who would provoke a massacre for his own glory. And foot soldiers are far more numerous than knights among the ranks, much to Guy's chagrin!"

"But he is still commander of the Templars' forces of the kingdom. He has their support, and the Patriarch's."

"And _**you**_, lad, have the support of the rest of the army, as well as mine, the Hospitalers', Sibylla's, and the high regard of Salah al-Dìn himself. Don't sell yourself short, Balian. You have allies among good men and in troubled times, that is much more important than the spite of the privileged."

Both men seated on a tiled bench nearby the jasmine shrub, and Jacques de Vitry was paralyzed in fear. Tiberias and Ibelin were a few feet from him! He could be discovered any time!

But his mind was also madly whirling with the possibilities offered by the proximity of his prey. The young baron d'Ibelin, so close to him…

A young servant came over to offer wine cups on a silver-engraved platter, and the two men eagerly accepted them. At the sight of the drinks, Jacques de Vitry suddenly remembered his forceful invitation to the palace this morning, and his own attempt to use a deadly mixture of nightshade and wine on Guy de Lusignan's well-built servant …

_The nightshade powder…_

"Guy is muzzled for now, lad," continued Tiberias after taking a gulp of wine. "He'll cling to his title of Prince Consort like a leech, because it is his only mean to avoid prison and disgrace, but he'll soon realize it will be his only political role. At least the people of Jerusalem won't suffer from his well-known inability to lead the army. We have now a possibility to renew the peace concluded with Salah al-Dìn after the coronation of young Baldwin, since Sibylla is eager to maintain her brother's governing ideals."

"I pray she will never surrender to Guy's blackmail over her son," sighed Balian. "As Regent, she can give him the command of the armies if he promises her the allegiance of his armed forces to Prince Baldwin, and it would lead to a catastrophe."

"It's true. But I reckon you and I are match enough for Guy!"

Balian half-smiled and lifted the cup to his lips, when a noise was heard coming from one for the open-aired corridors forming the garden. Both men left their cups on the bench and stood up to see what was happening, unknowingly turning their backs to the Shadow Man.

That was the occasion Jacques de Vitry had been waiting for. In a flash, he reached his hand out of the jasmine shrub's branches to pour the nightshade powder into Balian's drinking cup. His soundless actions had lasted for less than a few seconds and no one had noticed the faint rustle of the jasmine leaves.

Back in the safety of his hiding place, the spy could barely contain his joy. Balian d'Ibelin would be dead in a few hours and no physician in the world could help him! With nightshade, death was inevitable… and it was not a pleasant way to leave this world. Guy de Lusignan would be so pleased to learn his archenemy was finally gone! For a brief instant, Jacques de Vitry envisioned himself leaving Jerusalem in the brink of war to go back to France, rich beyond words, his lifelong dream!

Then, Tiberias' gruff voice rose again and de Vitry snapped out of his reverie when he heard the Marshal of Jerusalem asking: "Brother Michael? What brings you…?"

Behind the jasmine leaves, the spy's eyes widened in bewilderment as he saw a Hospitaler monk, blond-haired and clad in a dark robe, running down the ceramic-tiled pathway and coming right to him like a charging elephant. Without a word, the Hospitaler pushed the young baron aside and grabbed Balian's wine cup just to fling its contents right into the jasmine shrub!

Jacques de Vitry yelled in horror as the poisonous wine was showered all over his face. Tiberias unsheathed his sword at the sound of the scream and plunged his hand into the branches to extirpate the trembling man from his hideout by his scruffy neck.

"You swine!" yelled Jerusalem's Marshal while holding his sword right at de Vitry's throat. "What are you doing in here, spying on us?!"

Balian also drew his father's sword from its scabbard and pointed it at the spy's stomach, with a look in his eyes that was clearly saying: move and die. Then Balian's attention came upon the gauntly man's face: in spite of the wine dripping from it, the skin pale in terror and the jaws shaking uncontrollably from chattering teeth, it had an air of _déjà vu_.

"KNIGHTS! TO ME!" called out Tiberias in a thundering voice, and men-in-arms wearing the blue and golden colors of his household instantly invaded the once-peaceful garden, holding lightened torches and their swords on the ready. As soon as they spotted their lord Tiberias and Balian pointing their weapons to a shabby, gauntly-face man, two of the knights grabbed the suspect by the arms and immobilized him.

"Answer me, you whoreson!" growled Tiberias. "What were you doing in this garden?"

Balian glanced at Brother Michael and he could see the monk's usual easy smile had vanished from his lips, and his sky-blue eyes were darker than a thunderstorm's clouds. Then he looked again at the spy's face and got confirmation of his growing doubts. He had seen this man standing at the edge of his bedroom's balustrade and also fleeing the market after Balian had almost been killed by falling roof tiles.

"My Lord Tiberias, this is the Shadow Man… The one who had tried to kill me twice." said Balian.

A deadly silence fell on the garden. Tiberias looked at the young baron in surprise, and then glared at Jacques de Vitry with such a ferocious look the spy whimpered in fear. He was trembling so hard his captors had a hard time to keep their hold on him!

"Who is your master, worm?" asked Tiberias with a low, dangerous voice. "Who ordered you to kill Lord Ibelin?"

Jacques de Vitry was violently shaking like a man stricken with fever. His fear was so great he couldn't utter a word, and his desperation prevented him to imagine a single explanation about his presence in the royal palace's gardens. The Hospitaler monk picked up the wine cup discarded on the ground and sniffed its remaining contents.

"Nightshade", said Brother Michael after a while. "That's a deadly poison, without any known antidote."

Tiberias seemed to be ready to skewer Jacques de Vitry on the spot, but Balian stopped him by putting a restraining hand on the Marshal's arm.

"Please, my Lord, we need to know who had ordered the murder."

The older man growled like a lion on the hunt, and then he suddenly smashed his sword's hilt on the spy's jaw, knocking the man's out cold instantly. Jacques de Vitry went limp like an empty sack of flour and Tiberias gave orders to his knights to keep the prisoner under lock and key at their master's city house, with strict instructions that no one should speak to him. The knights dragged the unconscious man out of the garden and took the directions of the stables, where they would find a horse to tie up Jacques de Vitry on its saddle and thus preventing any escape attempt.

Only when the spy got out of Tiberias' sight did the Marshal of Jerusalem dared to lower his sword. He reached out for his drink, and then thought better of it and knocked the wine cup over the garden's plants.

"That knave! He'll talk after I'm done with him, I assure you!"

"You won't even have to use torture, my Lord Tiberias," said Brother Michael. "He's not the kind of man who is gutsy enough to take the name of his master to his grave. Just _threaten_ him with forceful means of interrogation and he'll speak at once!"

Balian looked at the Hospitaler in amazement: "Brother… How did you know the assassin was hiding in this garden? How did you know he had planned to poison the wine?"

Brother Michael had his amused expression back, as well as his laughing eyes. It seemed like the departure of Jacques de Vitry had lifted a shadow from the monk's face. He smiled kindly at the young baron before answering:

"You are important to this city and its people, Balian. More important than you can imagine…"

The Hospitaler bowed his head towards Jerusalem's Marshal, and then quietly walked away on the garden's pathway as if he didn't have a worry in the world. Nothing in his gait could reveal that he had just prevented an assassination attempt or that a spy had been found in the palace of King Baldwin IV. Soon, he disappeared from sight, swallowed by the night's darkness.

Both Balian and Tiberias watched him until the Hospitaler was gone, and then the Marshal of Jerusalem sighed and said:

"Why do I get the feeling that monk is always enjoying a private joke?"

TBC…


	11. The funeral

**Disclaimer**: same as chapter 1.

To my readers and reviewers: you are wonderful, thank you very much!

--------------------------

**Chapter ****9: The funeral**

_**(King Baldwin's IV palace, morning)**_

Just before dawn, the Chamberlain had stepped out of the king's apartments to announce the death of Baldwin IV.

The majordomos and servants had worked on preparing the corpse. The entombment in the royal family's crypt was scheduled for early afternoon, following Baldwin IV's personal instructions for his funeral. With the deceased's body gravely damaged by leprosy, the usual rites reserved for nobles – the removal of the heart and entrails, to be delivered and buried in remote churches so their parishioners could pray for the king's soul – couldn't be observed. Baldwin IV had to be buried quickly and it would barely give the mourners the time to bid their final farewells.

The corpse got dressed in sumptuous black silk robes, decorated with spun gold embroideries, and a mask made of polished darkened iron hid the disfigured face. Soon afterwards, it was placed in the transept of the palace's chapel. Hundred of candles were lighted, incense was slowly burning, rose petals were scattered all over King Baldwin IV's body as well as on the marble slabs. Tiberias' men stood guard at the nave's right aisle, Templar knights at the left's, their swords drawn and presented in the position of salute, as still as the chapel's statues. Choristers were singing the antiphon _Exsultabunt_, and it would be followed by the _Subvenite_.

Jerusalem's churches rang the passing-bells, calling for prayers. Sadness and concern dominated the people's spirits; a few persons found comfort in thinking their king's sufferings had finally ended, but most of the population was sorely afraid for the future. Who will protect the young prince and heir? What will Princess Sibylla do with her dangerous husband? Will peace be maintained with Salah al-Dín?

The Marshal of Jerusalem was standing at the door of the palace's chapel with his lieutenant Julien de Crécy, waiting for the arrival of Princess Sibylla and Prince Baldwin. As the king's closest relatives, they would have to remain with their late brother and uncle until he was laid to rest. Princess Sibylla was scheduled to arrive first; then young Prince Baldwin would come, escorted by his bodyguards, and pray for the sovereign he would succeed to. Protocol prevented to talk openly about the upcoming new government before the inhumation, but to Tiberias' sharp ears the courtiers' whispers were buzzing as loud as an overturned bee-hive.

After the funeral mass and the entombment of Baldwin IV, Tiberias would have to read out loud the late king's Last Will and Testament in front of the assembled court as tradition requested, and there was no doubt that the announcement of Guy de Lusignan's superseding from Templar Army leader to powerless Prince Consort would provoke quite a ruckus. His Templar accomplices would be stunned, and their perplexity would grow even bigger after watching de Lusignan accepting his dismissal without his usual rebellious attitude!

Sybilla's husband would be forced to accept his disgrace because of Tiberias' trump card: the lousy assassin Jacques de Vitry locked up and well-guarded. During the night, Julien de Crécy had made his report about the terrorized spy blurting out the name of his employer shortly after regaining consciousness: Guy de Lusignan, no surprise here! Since his confession, de Vitry had been held in the cellars of Tiberias' city house, unharmed but shaking in fear so hard _"He could make the whole building crumble and fall down!"_ according to Julien de Crécy.

Not that the spy's denunciation would be sufficient to drag de Lusignan's sorry hide in a court of justice. When would the word of a puny, disgraced Templar brother carry enough weight against one of the richest Christian lords of the Holy Land? Only when pigs fly! But Tiberias had another plan in mind, one that didn't involve the usual procedures of justice but would make Guy de Lusignan keep quiet for a long time.

The old soldier's eye shone beneath his damaged lid when he spotted the silhouette of the Prince Consort, rushing towards him at the risk to knock down the burning candelabras illuminating the corridors in a gold light.

_Talk of the devil and he will appear…_

"Tiberias! Is what I've heard true?" asked Guy de Lusignan in a brusque tone, the one he used to make believe he had any kind of authority. He was disheveled and his sleeping clothes were in a disarray state, like if he had been kicked out of bed by some bad news.

"It is true, my lord," answered Raymond de Tripoli in a calm and sarcastic tone. "Our beloved king, Baldwin IV, has passed away during the night. A great loss for the kingdom, alas! We will miss his wisdom and his courage."

Guy de Lusignan stood still for a minute, just before realizing the Marshal of Jerusalem was making fun of him. His face reddened in anger and he growled:

"Do not act the buffoon with me, Tiberias. You know what I am talking about!"

"Well, you've heard about the death of our king, haven't you? What more distressing news there would be?"

De Lusignan looked like he was going to throttle Tiberias but he realized that the old soldier, for his entire calm and composed attitude, had his hand ready on his sword's hilt; there was also the uncomfortable proximity of Julien de Crécy, a seasoned soldier who was entirely devoted to his lord and master. Making a huge effort to remain calm, remembering Tiberias' threats about severing his manhood, de Lusignan opted for a courtier's condescending tone to say:

"Actually, an incident has been reported to me. According to my servants, you have found a spy in one of the palace's gardens during the night."

"A spy? Oh, you've been misinformed, my lord. It was just a petty thief, hiding in the bushes like a rat!"

"A thief?" repeated Guy de Lusignan with an expression of relief on his face, which radically changed for a look of horror when Tiberias casually added:

"Tow-colored hair, hatchet face, a gauntly frame, what else could he be? And his nerves are so raw that the mere sight of a sword scares him out of his wits! I've had him thrown in gaol and his interrogations will start soon, as I want to learn how he managed to slip inside the palace. But this is unworthy of your attention, my lord!"

Guy de Lusignan was livid: the description perfectly fitted Jacques de Vitry. The previous evening, he had asked one of his servants to bring the spy to the palace by his scruffy neck, but his man had returned empty-handed, telling a story about silencing de Vitry forever after an escape attempt. De Lusignan had gone to bed a happy man, wrongly thinking his troubles were over. His servant had lied to him and now he was in hot waters!

"W-why do you want to interrogate him, Tiberias?" stuttered Guy de Lusignan. "You would be wiser to hang him at once!"

"Oh, I don't think so, my lord" answered Raymond de Tripoli slyly. "Obviously, this wretched soul isn't a mastermind; why, he's barely an underling! The name of his employer is much more interesting to learn; I will keep him in jail until he confesses, and then I'll make sure that these two wrongdoers pay for their crimes."

Drops of sweat were slowly sliding down the would-be king's face, revealed by the candelabras' golden lights. There was no way out of this situation this time. Jacques de Vitry would give his name and even if Guy de Lusignan would strongly deny any accusation, that foxy Tiberias would have a powerful weapon over the head of Princess Sibylla's husband. He opened his mouth in a try to order the spy's immediate execution, but his words died in his throat when he realized Tiberias was looking at him straight in the eyes, unblinking.

It was the gaze of a predator just before pouncing on its prey.

"_He __has proof. De Vitry has already talked. The old rascal has proof!!!" _thought Guy de Lusignan in a terrified state. Tiberias could have in his possession a written admission from the imprisoned Templar brother, naming the Prince Consort of Jerusalem as the power behind the assassinations against Balian d'Ibelin. And by no doubt Jacques de Vitry was held in a secret place, where it wouldn't be possible to corrupt a guard and arrange an apparent "suicide". In Tiberias' hands, this confession could mean de Lusignan's ruin and social disgrace, even the annulment of his marriage before exile. For the thousandth time, he cursed the day the spy came to him with his ill-advised proposition!

Tiberias just kept on looking at him, inwardly laughing at this display of panic coming from the most arrogant prick he had ever met in his life. Guy de Lusignan was an idiot and his "nobility" was limited to his sumptuous clothing and a sword that he would raise only against unarmed opponents. A few years ago, Tiberias and his friend Godfrey d'Ibelin had begged Queen Agnes of Courtenay, Sibylla's mother, to not choose the Poitevin lord for her daughter's new husband, but Queen Agnes didn't heeded their advice, blinded by the young man's bragging about his family, his heroic deeds and his piety. Only after the marriage had she realized too late that her son-in-law was nothing but a dangerous fool: ashamed, she had fled the court to retire in her Acres' estates.

After a moment Guy de Lusignan finally calmed down. He gulped noisily and raised his weak chin hidden behind his beard to ask defiantly, between gritted teeth:

"What do you want from me, Tiberias?"

But footsteps echoed in the corridors behind the Marshal of Jerusalem, interrupting the conversation between the two men. Tiberias turned around to see Balian, clad in dark clothes under his Ibelin coat-of-arms. With his sorrowful gaze and the golden glow of the corridors highlighting his handsome features and his dark hair, he looked like an angel coming to pray for the loved king's soul. He was followed by six of his knights and among them, standing protectively at Balian's right side, the towering Almaric.

Tiberias' eyes shone briefly at the sight of Balian, the soon-to-be-proclaimed Head of the kingdom's armies. _"Here comes one of the rare persons who are truly mourning the passing of the king"_, thought the old soldier. He nodded to the young man and then glanced back to Guy de Lusigan, who looked utterly ridiculous standing in front of his worst enemies while wearing only his sleep clothes. As silly as if he were riding a donkey backwards!

"What do I want from you, my lord? Nothing more than what is expected from a member of this court…" growled Raymond de Tripoli. He turned on his heels before adding over his shoulder in a steely voice: "….Namely, your _absolute obedience_ to King Baldwin IV's Last will and testament."

With this Parthian shot, Tiberias walked back to the royal chapel with his hand resting on Balian's shoulder, leaving a very enraged Prince Consort in his wake. Snarling, Guy de Lusignan bolted back to his rooms, silently promising retributions for Jacques de Vitry's loose tongue and this latest humiliation from Jerusalem's Marshal. And he swore he would have the skin flailed from the Ibelin bastard's bones! His apartment's doors slammed behind him with a thunderous thud, troubling the quietness of the palace.

Tiberias sighed and turned his gaze towards the statues standing on their pedestals, the marble columns supporting the horseshoe-shaped vaults, the elaborated mosaics and ceramics, the pointed-arch ceilings. He had lived within these walls all his life and every corner of the palace was familiar to him, but over the years his disillusions about politics had led him to slowly detest this place, as if it was a luxurious jailhouse. Tiberias had remained in charge out of respect for Baldwin IV and he would accomplish his duty towards the future Baldwin V, but he couldn't help but thinking more and more frequently about leaving the Holy Land for good.

"_How many conspiracies have you witnessed__ already?" _silently asked Raymond de Tripoli to the palace's walls._ "How many more will you see? Is there a conspiracy against young Baldwin already? Will warmongers success in their plots for open conflict against the Muslims, making the innocent peoples' blood flow as if a torrent's?"_

The old soldier interrupted his musings when he saw Balian looking worriedly at him: he hadn't missed the sigh escaping from his father's best friend. Tiberias gave Balian one of his rare half-smiles, while thinking: _"Then again, we may have a chance to save the people's lives with the presence of this diamond-soul knight among us… and with my own personal scheme to prevent Guy de Lusignan from preparing new massacres."_

Tiberias squeezed Balian's shoulder, and said:

"Sibylla will arrive soon, Balian. We should wait for her."

TBC….


	12. The judgement

**Disclaimer**: same as chapter 1.

**Author's notes:**

- To my readers and reviewers: I am sorry it took so long to update, but RL got in the way (office deadlines, meetings, term papers and a touch of the flu… To quote Charlie Brown: "Good grief!").

- Gilbert de Plancy is a character of my making, as well as his position of Chief Magistrate and his writing of medieval legal documents, so there are no historical accuracies to be found here.

--------------------------

**Chapter 10: The judgement**

_**(King Baldwin's IV palace, mid-day)**_

The mourners were gathered in the palace's main patio. Lords and ladies from all religions and provinces were standing under the patio's galleys, adorned with semi-circular arches supported by Ionic-styled marble columns, to avoid the blazing sun. They were clad in expensive garments of discreet tones of color, waiting for the Chamberlain to call them, one after another: they would be lead to an antechamber and then directed to the chapel to pay their respects to the deceased King Baldwin IV. In the meantime, they were talking quietly between themselves about the government of soon-to-be King Baldwin V and his Regent mother, or giving orders to their servants and ladies-in-waiting.

The general atmosphere within the palace's walls was of grieving of course, but there was also a feeling of danger, a threat in the air, and no one could ignore it. How could it be overlooked, with Guy de Lusignan less-than-discreet political moves and alliances? The Poitevin lord had powerful friends, ruthless ambitions to the throne, complete lack of war skills and above everything else he was the wedded husband of Princess Sibylla, so he could easily become the true power behind the throne. Anything should happen to young Prince Baldwin, a child, and de Lusignan would be crowned king.

That very thought was making a lot of courtesans shuddering in horror: what would become of them and their families if Guy de Lusignan declared war against the Saracens? Of course, there were wild rumors flying around the city recently, talking about Tiberias keeping de Lusignan on a very short leash, and the young lord d'Ibelin's name had also been mentioned: that had started thousands of speculations amongst the mourners, who knew all about the relationship between Balian d'Ibelin and Princess Sibylla, the less well-kept secret of the Holy Land!

But decency and protocol prevented the courtesans to talk out loud about governmental affairs before King Baldwin IV was laid to rest. A facade of dignity had to be kept for the moment and any breach of protocol would bring a public scorn to remind the culprit that funerals were a time for praying, not for gossiping.

Tiberias, the Marshal of Jerusalem, was watching this flock of mourners from his office's marble balustrade overhanging the main patio. He was dressed in dark clothes beneath his blue-and-gold embroidered household cloth, his sheathed sword hanging from his belt. He would have loved to join the crowd and pray for the soul of a beloved king, or dwell in the memories of Baldwin's happy boyhood before his leprosy was revealed; but Tiberias was never off-duty, not even in grief. In fact, his eyes were attentively scanning every Christian lord gathered downstairs, remembering each face and name and labeling the individual as "ally", "neutral" or "enemy" of his plans to keep the peace treaty signed between Salah-al-Dìn and the kingdom of Jerusalem.

Actually, among the Christian barons and the clergy, there were more "neutrals" and "enemies" than "allies"!

The Marshal of Jerusalem had a loud sigh, and the word _"Cyprus"_ jumped into his mind. That island's name was jumping more and more frequently in his thoughts these days. He knew the solution to save his family and himself, so why in the name of all sacred things was it so difficult to save the population of the city as well?

"_I am getting __too old for politics, that's why."_

"Tiberias?" asked a young man's voice.

The older man suddenly noticed the presence of Balian d'Ibelin standing right beside him. Godfrey's son had left him a few hours ago to pay his final respects to Baldwin IV, and apparently he was back from the chapel but Tiberias, lost in his thoughts, hadn't heard him come. Balian's lieutenant, Almaric, remained at the office's door: he couldn't enter to attend a meeting between two lords so he took upon himself to stand guard and keep a sharp eye on every incoming visitor.

Balian didn't ask his father's friend what was troubling him. He knew too well of the situation, and he honestly doubt if he would ever fulfill his new position as Head of the Army, even if he had been nominated by the late King Baldwin IV himself. Guy's hold over his wife was still strong. Sibylla was, above everything else, a mother. Her rank, wealth and sense of duty would evaporate like a patch of water under the desert's sun if anything should threaten her adored son, Prince Baldwin. She would sacrifice all of Earth's kingdoms to guarantee the safety of her child, even make a pact with the Devil… and who could blame her?

But what would happen to the people, trapped in the crossfire between Guy's belligerent intentions and Salah al-Dìn's presence nearby the kingdom of Jerusalem? How many men, women, children would perish from the actions of troublemakers from both sides? How many innocents sacrificed to satisfy the ambitions of a handful of warlords?

"I've ordered Julien de Crécy to bring the spy here," suddenly announced Tiberias, his eyes fixed on the crowd of mourners downstairs.

Balian was surprised at this decision: the would-be assassin, who had been arrested after trying to poison him, was to be brought to the Palace on the day of King Baldwin IV's funeral?

"Is it wise, my lord?" asked Balian. "He could be recognized and Guy would slay him on the spot."

"I know it is risky, but there are no other choices," the Marshall of Jerusalem grumbled between gritted teeth. "I want the spy – Jacques de Vitry his name is, by the way – to sign a full declaration in front of me, Magistrate Gilbert de Plancy, and you. During the night, Julien had interrogated the prisoner and my scribe has noted de Vitry's ties with the Templar Order, his deal with Guy de Lusignan and the attempts on your life. Those details were sent afterwards to Gilbert de Plancy, who has written an official statement. Once de Vitry has signed his confession, this document will be sealed and handed over to Princess Sibylla. After reading it, she will have a choice: either she muzzles her husband by exiling him, either she surrenders to his blackmail and provoke a bloodbath!"

"Do you think a signed confession from that man will be enough to neutralize Guy?" asked Balian doubtfully.

"De Vitry is a low-level rat, I agree" answered Tiberias. "But he can also become a nuisance for Guy, just like a rodent running in a church's alley during Mass! I have no intention to drag his sorry skin to a tribunal's court and make him accuse the arrogant prick; it would be a perfect waste of time. I'd rather give Sibylla an opportunity to break all ties with her husband, by using both her feelings towards you and a written proof of Guy's conspiracies. If she asks for the annulment of her marriage, he will be stripped of his title of Prince Consort and the Templars will shun him after their order's name has been mentioned in a murder attempt on you, the most loved knight of Jerusalem!"

Raymond de Tripoli spotted the Patriarch of Jerusalem, Heraclius, heading for the palace's chapel with his nose held up in the air, followed by his usual crowd of acolytes and servants. Disgusted by the presence of this notorious hypocritical prince of the church, Tiberias left the balustrade and went back inside his office, followed by Balian.

"Time is running out, Balian" said the Marshall. "King Baldwin IV's succession is extremely frail. I know Guy will try anything to extort a promise from his wife that she won't kick him out of Jerusalem, and as long as de Lusignan is here, young Prince Baldwin and the people of Jerusalem are imperiled. That's why I want Julien de Crécy to bring the would-be assassin here to have him signed his confession so Sibylla can read it as soon as the funeral is over. I hate this hastiness, especially after the lost of our beloved king, but our only hope lies on her reaction of outrage when learning about Guy's schemes against you! Sibylla may want to interrogate Jacques de Vitry herself, that's why I am keeping him alive for the moment but maybe he won't last that long."

"My lord!" exclaimed Balian with a shocked expression on his handsome face. "Has he been tortured?"

Tiberias had a small smile at the sight of Balian's worried eyes: were there any limits to this knight's heart?

"No Balian, I didn't rouse the tormentors from their comfy beds. De Vitry confessed as soon as he regained consciousness, locked up in the cellars of my city house. Julien de Crécy says the spy is more likely to die of fear than from the manhandling he got after his arrest. How such a nervous wreck had ever managed to convince Guy de Lusignan that he was a highly skilled assassin, I'll never understand!"

Tiberias' attention was drawn upon a huge but frail-looking stained-glass window that his great-grandfather, Raymond IV de Toulouse who later became Raymond de Tripoli the First, had taken with him as a reminder of his native city of Saint-Gilles, in the South of France.

The window had been installed in Tiberias' office in 1174, when he had been proclaimed Regent during the minority of Baldwin IV. It was depicting the Benedictine monastery founded by the hermit Ægidius who had been canonized Saint Gilles by the church in the seventh century. Saint Gilles, with his faithful hind in tow, was shown blessing the city's inhabitants and the monastery under a sky of the brightest blue. Every time Tiberias looked at it, he would feel a strange nostalgia towards France, even though he had never stepped foot on his ancestors' homeland in his life. If Jerusalem were ever won by the Saracens, would Raymond de Tripoli sail to France and meet long-lost relatives, or would he remain nearby the Holy Land, his birthplace?

Balian remained quiet, respecting the older man's inner thoughts. After a while, a clerk clad in black entered the office and bowed in front of Tiberias.

"My lord, Julien de Crécy has arrived with a prisoner."

"Very well, let him enter. Magistrate Gilbert de Plancy will arrive soon. Balian, stay here, I want you to witness the signature of the confession."

The clerk left the room and moments later, Julien de Crécy entered, dragging a haggard Jacques de Vitry at the end of a chain tied around his waist. The would-be assassin was indeed in a sad shape: soiled clothes, unshaven face, barefooted, hands bound in front of him to favor his broken left arm, his whole body trembling as if he had caught the marsh fever (malaria). Jacques de Vitry was indeed a Shadow Man, the sad shadow of the man he had been before coercing with Guy de Lusignan.

But what was even more shocking was the maddened expression on his face: de Vitry's eyes were rolling wildly in their sockets and dribble was running from his mouth to his chin. De Vitry whimpered noisily when he walked by Almaric: the knight had glared at him ferociously, promising heavy retributions for the attempts on Balian's life and the endangerment of Simon, Almaric's youngest son!

"_Pitiful"_ thought Tiberias, unknowingly imitating Guy de Lusignan after his first meeting with the spy, but under the circumstances the Marshal of Jerusalem couldn't afford to be finicky about the qualities of his witnesses for his plans to overthrow Sibylla's husband. He gestured to Julien de Crécy to unbound de Vitry's hands; as soon as he was freed, the spy collapsed on his knees in front of Tiberias:

"P-p-please, my lord Marshal, for heaven's s-s-sake, h-h-have pity on me!" squeaked the trembling assassin.

"Silence, you worm!" roared Raymond de Tripoli. "I didn't spare your miserable life to listen to your worthless pleas. As far as I am concerned, you are nothing but a cockroach barely worth the trouble to crush under my boot. But even thought I would gladly break your neck with my bare hands for your cowardly attacks against the baron d'Ibelin, I am willing to offer you a way to escape the gallows."

De Vitry's watery eyes lightened up a bit at Tiberias' words: "Oh t-t-thank you my lord!"

"**SILENCE, ****I SAID!**" bellowed the Marshall of Jerusalem, startling Julien de Crécy, and the prisoner crouched to the ground in fear until his forehead hit the marble-tiled floor. Balian didn't flinch.

"Now," added Tiberias with a lower level of voice, "listen carefully. Gilbert de Plancy, Magistrate of Jerusalem, will arrive any moment now. He will present a document stating the conspiracy plotted by Guy de Lusignan to murder the baron d'Ibelin here, and how you were commanded to be the executor of this evil deed. You will acknowledge every detail Master de Plancy will read out loud and after he is finished, you will sign this confession and don't you dare telling me you don't know how to read or write!"

"B-b-but my lord," stuttered Jacques de Vitry, "w-w-what are your in-in-intentions with this confes-confession?"

"That is none of your concern," growled Tiberias. "When it is done, I will order Julien de Crécy to escort you to a remote Hospitaler monastery up North, in the former County of Edessa, where you will be under the monks' surveillance as their new lay brother. May spending the rest of your days within the monastery's walls will bring at long last light and redemption on your miserable soul!"

Jacques de Vitry blanched at the thought of being held in a monastery located in enemy territory, but one look at Tiberias' grim face confirmed his unappealing decision. De Vitry was doomed to live a life of poverty and reclusion, exiled in a county formerly belonging to the kingdom of Jerusalem but at the hands of the Saracens for twenty-eight years now, without even a single chance to sail back to France. His dreams of wealth and respect had already come to a crashing end, and now he would never see his homeland again!

Balian looked at the prisoner swaying on his knees: a part of him had a hard time to forgive Jacques de Vitry for his attempts on his life, endangering in the process Almaric, Simon and the innocent bystanders at the market; but another part of him couldn't help but feel sorry for the wretched man who had entangled himself in the dangerous conspiracies of high-ranking people. What promises Guy de Lusignan had made for convincing de Vitry to gamble his life and his freedom?

In the meantime, Magistrate Gilbert de Plancy entered the office. He was a short man in his mid-fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a face covered with age lines. Like all the other courtesans, he was dressed in black from head to toes and a heavy-looking leather portfolio was tucked under his left arm. He bowed in front of the two men and said:

"My lord Tiberias, greetings on this mournful day; may our Lord and Saviour receive our beloved King Baldwin IV's soul and protect our future young king. Lord d'Ibelin, my greetings."

"Thank you, Master de Plancy," answered Tiberias. "Do you have the document?"

"Aye, my lord. It will bring shame and scorn upon the perpetrators, as it is one of the most disgraceful crimes I've ever been told about in my career!"

"Please have a seat, Master de Plancy, and read the document to us."

Julien de Crécy grabbed the spy and made him sit on a nearby bench. Master de Plancy (who lightly wrinkled his nose from smelling the foul emanations coming from de Vitry's body) seated himself comfortably before taking out a parchment from his portfolio and reading out loud the text written on it:

"_Here in the office of Raymond, third Count de Tripoli, Prince of Galilee and Tiberias, Marshal of the Holy City of Jerusalem, is acknowledged the following:_

_I, Jacques de Vitry, born in __March 5__th__ of our Lord's year 1147 in the village of Vitry on the River Marne, nearby the city of Paris in France, member of the Templar Order since our Lord's year 1162, admit to the following:_

_I have participated in a plot lead by Guy de Lusignan, Bailiff of Jerusalem, Count of Ascalon and Jaffa, Prince Consort and wedded husband of Sibylla, sister of our beloved lord liege Baldwin, fourth of the name and by the grace of the Holy Spirit fifth ruler of the kingdom of Jerusalem, to assassinate Balian, baron of Ibelin. I __had ventured to do the deed on my own initiative in the hopes of gaining Guy de Lusignan's favor__. As price for this assassination, I have received gold from his hand…"_

Drops of sweat were rolling down from de Vitry's forehead and he moaned loudly at the mention of Guy de Lusignan's name, but one glare from Tiberias quieted the spy.

"_I __avow to have attempted on Lord Ibelin's life once in his town house on the night of July 13__th__ of our Lord's year 1187, while he slept, and solely the intervention of Almaric, lieutenant of Balian, had prevented me from stabbing the baron of Ibelin to accomplish my foul deed…"_

Balian sent a look of pure gratitude towards the tall and muscular silhouette of his lieutenant, partly hidden by the office door's shadows. Loyal and courageous Almaric!

"_I __avow to have attempted on Lord Ibelin's life twice while he visited Jerusalem's main market, on the day of July 20__th__ of our Lord's year 1187, by throwing tiles at him from a roof…"_

Tiberias silently thanked the Heavens for these botched murder attempts: as clumsy as de Vitry was, he still could have managed to seriously injured Balian in his attacks, thus depriving the people of Jerusalem of their only chance to survive a conflict setting the whole Holy Land ablaze. Looking at Balian from the corner of his eyes, Tiberias got certain the young baron was the only rampart standing between innocents and the furies of war!

"_I __avow to have attempted on Lord Ibelin's life thrice on the night of July 22__nd__ of our Lord's year 1187, by pouring belladonna into his cup of wine, in the gardens of the Palace of our much loved lord liege Baldwin, ruler of the kingdom of Jerusalem…"_

The mourning bells of the city's churches were ringing in a continuous rhythm, adding their lugubrious sounds to the mourning palace's walls. Tiberias sighed inwardly, wishing this day would end soon. Baldwin IV's fate was inevitable, but that didn't make his passing any easier to those who had really cared for him. The old solider was sad and also highly irritated that he couldn't say his final farewells to his king with the matter of Jacques de Vitry at hand: more reasons to harbor resentment against the lousy assassin!

"_Thereto, I sign this full confession of my crimes on __this day, July 23__rd__ of our Lord's year 1187, in presence of Raymond, third Count de Tripoli, Prince of Galilee and Tiberias, Marshal of the Holy City of Jerusalem, and Gilbert de Plancy, Magistrate of the Holy City of Jerusalem, and Balian, Lord d'Ibelin. May the Almighty Lord forgive my sins and have mercy upon my soul."_

Gilbert de Plancy finished his reading with a disgusted look on his face when he looked at the prisoner, whose agitation seemed to worsen after the lecture of his deeds. Jacques de Vitry's eyes were darting in every direction, his sweating had increased and his lips were moving frantically; Julien de Crécy heard him muttering the word _"fault"_ again and again and he wrongly thought the spy was reciting an act of contrition. Had he listened closer, de Crécy would have heard Jacques de Vitry saying:

"Not my fault… _his_ fault… all _his_ fault… Ibelin… _his_ fault…"

TBC…


	13. The conclusion

**Disclaimer**: same as chapter 1.

**Author's notes:**

- There it is! The last chapter! I hope you'll like it.

--------------------------

**Chapter 11: The conclusion**

_**(King Baldwin's IV palace, mid-day)**_

At Tiberias' nod, his lieutenant grabbed Jacques de Vitry again to drag him in front of the Marshal's desk. Ink, quill, melted wax and seal had already been prepared, and the document penned by Master de Plancy was laid across the table, ready to be signed. Tiberias grabbed the quill and handed it to Jacques de Vitry:

"This is your last chance to save your life. Sign this, and you'll be safe from de Lusignan."

De Vitry took the quill with a trembling hand, and spelled laboriously his name at the bottom of the page while softly weeping. Tiberias also noticed the would-be assassin's jaw was moving like of its own accord, and the old soldier mistaken the shaky movement from teeth chattering against each other from de Vitry's panicky state of mind. Disgusted by the spineless man, Tiberias snatched the parchment from the spy and considered the signature with drops of ink dripping down from it.

"_Talk about __courage!"_ grumbled inwardly the Marshal of Jerusalem, and he turned around to speak with Master de Plancy about sealing the parchment to make it an official.

Balian sadly considered the broken shell of a man, who was still muttering to himself while twirling the fingers of his right hand around the chain tied across his waist, holding his injured left arm against his chest. But all of a sudden, Jacques de Vitry yanked the chain free from Julien de Crécy's grasp and in a swift movement he hit him squarely on the face with the iron links!

Julien de Crécy went down like a fallen tree, blood dripping from his broken nose. Before anyone could even think of doing something, de Vitry grabbed the chain and he jumped at Balian, screaming like a lunatic: _**"YOUR FAULT! IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"**_

Balian didn't have enough time to unsheathe his sword: Jacques de Vitry was on him in a flash, using the iron chain like a noose to strangle him. Instinctively, Balian clutched at the chain to give him the very small time to block it before it could reach his throat – but de Vitry's strength was decupled by madness. Calls for help rang across Tiberias' office, but all Balian could see were his nemesis' bulging eyes and unshaven face. The struggle's momentum sent the two men banging against the Saint Gilles stained-glass window and the impact's violence proved to be too much for the century-old frail work of art.

_**CRRAAAAS**__**SSHHHHH!!!**_

The window exploded into a kaleidoscope of glass and lead fragments. Loosing their support, the entangled fighters fell from the upper story and hit the hard marble pavement of the palace's main patio.

Balian felt as if a red-hot iron had slapped him across the back, his spine vibrating like a lute's cord from the impact. Bright colors danced before his eyes and he could hardly see the silhouettes of the mourners fleeing the scene in horror, frightened by the shower of glass shards and the apparition of the belligerents. Distorted shouts, calls for help and orders could hardly reach his ears. His body temporary numb from the shock, Balian was only aware of his paralyzed lungs desperately trying to work again.

After a moment that felt like lasting a century, his breathing came back to normal; his vision cleared a little but his movements remained sluggish. Then he saw the distorted, battered silhouette of Jacques de Vitry towering over him, holding a pointy, red-colored shard of glass like a knife just before lowering it to stab Balian…

… A silvery flash whizzed in the air…

… And Jacques de Vitry suddenly stood as still as a statue for an instant, just before collapsing to the ground in a heap. The glass shard bounced and twirled on the pavement before immobilizing itself at the bottom of a statue's pedestal.

Balian could hardly realize what had happened. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs and in spite of his aching back, he managed to roll on his side to see his would-be murderer lying facedown on the ground with a pool of blood growing under his throat. Balian slowly got on his knees and turned Jacques de Vitry's body on his back…

… And the young baron d'Ibelin understood what had happened: a long, thin dagger made of polished steel had been thrown and it had buried itself deep into the spy's throat. Jacques de Vitry's wound was fatal, the blood spouting profusely from his artery with every beat of his heart. Balian took the dagger out and tossed it aside, then he immediately pressed his palm against the wound to stop the flown of blood, but to no avail: it was like using his bare hands to prevent a dam from breaking! With his experience on battlefields, Balian had learned a lot of things about wounds and he knew that men with slashed throats died within a matter of minutes.

Tiberias, Almaric and other knights from the Ibelin household roughly pushed their way through the crowd of onlookers' lords, ladies and servants who had gathered around the young baron of Ibelin and his dying attacker, making the patio thickly overcrowded. Cries of horror and disgust could be heard all over the place and Tiberias cursed inwardly the courtesans for not having enough sense to seek for help, instead of staying rooted on the spot.

"BALIAN!" roared the Marshal of Jerusalem, "Are you all right?"

Godfrey's son could only nod assent to answer his friend's concern; he was still in shock from the brutality of the fight, his fall from the upper story and the sudden demise of his attacker. Shining particles of colored glass were entangled in Balian's dark mane of hair; his face was maculated with dust, his left eyebrow had been cut during the scuffle and a line of blood was drying on his cheek.

The doomed man's face was already as white as a bed sheet and despite Balian's efforts, the blood was pouring freely from the open wound on his throat. Almaric kneeled next to his lord and master, his sword arm on the ready should Jacques de Vitry try a last action but the dying man feebly reached out to the young lord he had wanted to kill four times and who was now assisting his last moments.

"I… scared…." stammered Jacques de Vitry, his body convulsing in the throes of death.

Balian grabbed the spy's hand and squeezed it gently, to make him understand without using words that he was forgiving him for his foul actions, past and recent. Tiberias yelled for a priest but as usual, Patriarch Heraclius was nowhere in sight. The Head of the Church of Jerusalem had a tendency to disappear whenever danger was lurking around!

Jacques de Vitry's hand closed on Balian's in a tight, desperate grip, and then the spy expired. The wretched man's destiny ended with an ironical twist: for years he had dreamed of a life of luxury, only to die within the frieze-covered walls of a palace, towered by the elaborated marble columns and surrounded precious statues and works of art while his demise was witnessed by the richest lords and ladies of a kingdom.

But only one of them, his designated victim, was willing to hold his hand as he drew his last breath.

"Damn it!" growled Tiberias after Jacques de Vitry's eyes had closed forever.

He was clutching the man's declaration in his fist but its value had diminished considerably, since the confession of a dead man could be easily tampered by doubts and suspicions. If Sibylla insisted to interrogate the spy herself, Tiberias would have to admit to the man's demise, thus depriving the Princess of a confirmation of Guy's conspiracies. Would the declaration be enough to convince Sibylla to get rid of her dangerous husband?

Balian laid the Shadow Man's boneless hand on the marbled pavement. As on cue, a trembling servant came forward, holding a white embroidered cloth to cover the body. The young baron of Ibelin motioned to the servant and Jacques de Vitry disappeared under this impromptu but beautiful shroud.

Almaric helped his master to get back on his feet and Balian felt grateful for the knight's silent and constant watchfulness over him. He was still feeling dizzy and his back was hurting from his fall, and yet, just like after the battle of Kerak, he wanted to stand tall before the crowd of onlookers in spite of his physical injuries.

Little did he knew that the colored glass fragments were shining in his hair in the shape of a crown; along with his handsome features and the "tear" of blood on his cheek, it gave him the appearance of a celestial messenger who had survived a violent combat and was crying from the terrible display of man's inhumanity to man. The onlookers' whispers intensified and once again, the words _"Ibelin" _and_ "angel"_ were mentioned numerous times and in various languages.

Tiberias bended and picked up the deadly dagger; it was a light weighted and thin item, finely worked, with a very sharp edge. The kind of knife that could be easily thrown and hit its mark while keeping its owner at a safe distance from prying eyes.

The Marshal of Jerusalem had no doubts the dagger-thrower had been hiding in the crowd; but he couldn't do anything to investigate: among the mourners were noble families, guilds' representatives and merchant delegates coming from every corner of the kingdom of Jerusalem, and he couldn't provoke a scandal by ordering an interrogation of those witnesses, given the already precarious situation! Besides, how would those wealthy courtesans know about a disgraced Templar who had been arrested in the palace's garden?

Then Tiberias noticed something on the dagger's metallic hilt. His eyes widened at the sight, and then he motioned to the young baron d'Ibelin to come closer.

"Balian, look at this."

The young man took the dagger in his hand, without minding the blood dripping from the blade, and he too saw what had intrigued the Marshal of Jerusalem: on the hilt was engraved a design that was easily recognizable.

It was a barley ear.

Balian raised his head and read in Tiberias' eyes: whoever had thrown this dagger to save his life had been sent by a beautiful Saracen woman, the one he had saved from Renaud de Châtillon's clutches. Balian had called her "the barley field lady" before learning of her real name: Princess Yasmina, Salah al-Dìn's sister. Balian would never forget the first time he had saw that dignified lady holding a bouquet of barley ears and looking fearlessly at the face of her attackers…

And obviously, Princess Yasmina had been watching over her champion ever since Balian had returned to Jerusalem, by using invisible but efficient bodyguards who wouldn't hesitate to throw a knife inside King Baldwin IV's palace to protect him from the Shadow Man. How would he ever be able to repay Yasmina?

The baron d'Ibelin looked at Tiberias and saw that he had silently reached to the same conclusion, since the old soldier knew about the connection between Balian, a barley ear and a certain Saracen lady. The Marshal of Jerusalem squeezed Balian's shoulder in a gesture of comfort and affection, and then he motioned to the palace's guards to get the courtesans inside the building. The drama was over, the servants needed the space to dispose of the body and clean up the mess left by the shattered stained-glass window of Saint Gilles. Everyone had to be reminded that the funeral of a king was the day's main concern, and not the falling death of a prisoner.

"Come to my office, Balian" said Tiberias after the crowd was slowly walking back to the safety of the palace's walls. "I'll send for Brother Michael and he will take a look at Julien de Crécy and at you. It was a nasty fall you took!"

Balian nodded, but he stood still after noticing his lieutenant's strange attitude: Almaric was staring at the flock of retreating mourners with a shocked expression on his face, as if he had seen a ghost in broad daylight.

"Almaric?" asked Balian. "What is wrong?"

"I am sorry my lord," answered the towering knight with a start. "I am not sure, but… For an instant, I thought I was seeing Nasser leaving the palace."

"Nasser… Isn't he your merchant friend who was at the market?"

"That's right, my lord" said Almaric, "Nasser is more than a trader of leather goods, though: he's also the leader of the tanners' guild of Jerusalem. He has probably been invited to pay his last respects to King Baldwin IV as the representative of his corporation. But if it was really him, why did he leave the palace?"

Balian looked down at the bloodied dagger lying in the palm of his hand, and said: "He probably had to meet the barley field lady."

Almaric stared at his master, not comprehending these words but Balian, lost in his own thoughts, didn't see the knight's puzzled face. Tiberias grumbled one last time at the would-be assassin's memory and walked back to his office. Balian, Almaric and some other knights from Tiberias' household dutifully followed him.

When they reached the patio's galley, Tiberias and Balian saw the Princess Sibylla of Jerusalem, dressed entirely in black and with a diaphanous, embroidered veil covering her face, coming from the palace's chapel after a day of praying for her brother's soul. Young Prince Baldwin, equally clad in black, was walking alongside his mother, clutching her hand.

The men bowed reverently to salute the grieving princess and her solemn little boy. Balian raised his eyes to look at Sibylla's face through the veil, but she didn't even stop to acknowledge his presence. Her red-rimmed, grieving eyes were looking straight ahead of her and her face, half-hidden by the cloth, was expressing a great inner turmoil. Prince Baldwin briefly turned his head toward the Marshal of Jerusalem, and Tiberias could see the boy was frightened; the old soldier got the feeling that it was unrelated with the death of the king.

Both men turned around, just in time to see the snarling face of Guy de Lusignan, illuminated by the corridor's candelabra. The Poitevin lord was standing at the chapel's doorway and nearby him was the silhouette of Gérard de Ridefort, Grand Maître of the Templars. Guy de Lusignan glared at Balian and de Ridefort had a nasty smile on his face. Apparently, Guy hadn't had the decency to wait until the funeral was over to threaten his wife about her son's safety, and he even asked for the presence of Gérard de Ridefort while he blackmailed Sibylla!

Tiberias felt the parchment in his fist crumpling again under the tightening pressure of his fingers, and silently wondered if all his efforts had been for nothing. He sent a dirty look at de Lusignan and walked away from the chapel, his hand resting on the young lord d'Ibelin's shoulder as a reminder of the protection he had sworn towards his friend's son. But the Marshal of Jerusalem knew the sand in the hourglass had just gone thinner and was running faster than ever.

Will Sibylla listen to him, or will she surrender to her husband out of fear for her child?

"_Do you think a signed confession from __Jacques de Vitry will be enough to neutralize Guy?" _had asked Balian earlier.

Somehow, even Raymond de Tripoli doubted it.

THE END! ;-)


End file.
